Weakness
by RandomCheeses
Summary: Fullmetal Alchemist oneshots. All characters, all canons, all possible ARs. Spoilers for the end of the manga and the 2003 animé.
1. Weakness : Overlooked

Disclaimer : I do not own

* * *

A month had gone by after that insane day when they had come so close to losing everything and instead gained back everything they'd lost. Since he finally had no other obligations to weigh him down, Ed busied himself looking after Al's needs. His brother's body, though warm and alive and wonderful, was very weak and fragile. And after years of surviving solely by leeching energy from Ed through the blood seal that had somehow bound their life forces together, Al's body was in terrible shape.

Al was suffering from the effects of starvation, severe malnutrition and muscles that were so atrophied that they were next to useless. So Ed had thrown all his energy into looking after his little brother. After all, wasn't that what he'd always done? And once Al was well, that would be it. His contract with the military was up. They could go home to Resembool and no one could argue them out of it. Well, not successfully at any rate, though Ed was pretty sure Mustang would give it his best try. He couldn't wait, actually, because it was damn well going to end with him saying a very satisfying 'No' right to the bastard's face and then making a dramatic exit with his coat tails flying behind him as he strode out.

Days passed and Ed focused his attention on Al up to the point that his little brother had enough and ordered Ed to get out and give him space to breathe. So he pulled on his coat and boots and went out, tramping aimlessly around the city streets. It was when he was passing a proverbial darkened alley that Ed was forcibly shown something he'd completely over-looked.

He saw the attacker coming clear enough, instinctively bringing up his arm to defend himself from the mugger's knife. It was then that he realised Al wasn't the only one who needed to adjust to his body's limitations again.

He'd had an automail arm for four years. Under attack, he'd automatically tried to block the knife with an arm of steel. Except it wasn't steel anymore. It was soft, giving flesh and the knife bit viciously into it. He let out surprised howl of pain and stumbled back. Blood spurted from the deep wound, bright red and sticky. And it hurt. Oh God, did it _hurt._

Ed had spent four years searching for a way to restore himself and his brother. Al's body had been top priority of course, but he'd always been eager to restore his own limbs too. Four years of occasional extra surgery and ever increasing back and joint pain had meant he'd regularly dreamt wistfully of having four limbs of light flexible flesh.

But now, as the knife slashed down again and he backed away, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow, Ed realised that in comparison to his strong steel arm, the flesh and blood that he had spent so long trying to restore, was so very, very weak.

* * *

If you think you've read this before. . . you probably have. It got deleted and had to be reposted. Review anyway?


	2. Touched : Paying Respects

Diclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Al hadn't been able to take it anymore. There were too many people here. Too many strangers, people he didn't know, that said they knew him. They all kept saying how sorry they were that Brother was dead.

There were a few people he recognised. Like Granny Pinako, who didn't look any different from the last time he'd seen her, and Winry, who _really _did, seeing as she was five years older than him now and looked, well, like a _girl_. There was Teacher, who was coughing a lot more now, and Sig right next to her, holding out a handkerchief. There was also Rose, who'd brought him home from Central, holding her baby and shushing it.

But that was all. Al didn't recognise any of the other people. He didn't know the big man and his son who smelt of coal and dust even though their were spotlessly clean. He didn't know the two blond haired brothers who'd said they were sorry, the older one putting an odd emphasis on the words 'for everything'. He didn't know the woman who had a smile like Mom and made him think of quiche and apple pie, or her daughter who insisted on calling him 'Big Brother Al' and made him think of photographs and shiny glasses.

All these people had kept coming up to him and hugging him or shaking his hand and saying how sorry they were. And Al couldn't bear it anymore. He couldn't bear the pitying smile, the sad look they gave him when he insisted that they weren't burying a body, that Brother was still out there somewhere.

So now here he was, halfway up a tree, half-hidden by the leaves and waiting for Winry's call of "Al? Where are you?" to fade away.

Eventually, Winry gave up and went back inside the house and Al relaxed slightly. For a few minutes there was near silence, the only noise that of the wind fluttering through the leaves.

Then a voice asked "Are you all right up there Alphonse?"

Al blinked in surprise and looked down. Standing below him, was yet another person he didn't recognise. A man with jet black hair and an eye-patch, dressed in the royal blue uniform of Amestris' military. Al surveyed the man carefully. There were more than a few military people here today, but then, that wasn't surprising. Winry had explained that Brother had become a State Alchemist so that they could get their bodies back. Al wondered how this soldier had known them.

"Alphonse?" the man asked again, "are you all right?"

Al started, realising that he'd been staring silently for over a minute. "I um-" he said guiltily, embarrassed at being caught evading guests, "I just needed some air."

The man smiled and nodded. "Me too," he said. "It's a bit hectic in there." Then murmured, half to himself, "I never quite realised just how many people you two met on your travels."

"Um, sir?" Al paused, unsure if he wanted to interrupt the man's reminiscence. "If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

For a second Al saw a brief flash of _pain-hurt-something_ in the man's remaining eye and then he smiled again. "Ah, of course, your amnesia. Brigadier-General Mustang," he said, holding up his hand. Al leaned forward on his branch and shook it carefully. "I was your brother's commanding officer."

"Oh." Al frowned. Part of the sentence hadn't seemed right for some reason. He tilted his head and looked at the soldier again. Something in the back of mind whispered _Colonel. He should only be a Colonel._ But Al didn't say so aloud. He didn't want to insult the man. Instead he said "I understand why some military people came, sir. After all, Brother was part of the military. But all these other people, how did he know them all so well?

"I don't think he did," the Brigadier-General answered. " But Edward, he was, he _is_ . . . memorable. Your brother touched a lot of people's lives. God knows he certainly changed mine, the short tempered, foul mouthed little brat," the General added in a fond tone of voice.

Al grinned despite himself. That certainly sounded like Brother.

"All of these people had their lives changed for the better by you and your brother," the General continued. "They're just paying their respects."

At this, Al swallowed and then said what he'd been saying all day. "Brother isn't dead. He's still out there somewhere. He will come home." Then he waited for the response that he'd been getting all day, the pitying smile, the sad look. But it didn't come.

Instead the Brigadier General looked at him thoughtfully. "Alphonse," he said slowly, "how sure of that are you?"

"One hundred per cent," Al said back. And he was. He had no idea how to explain it, but he knew Ed was alive. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Ed was alive. "I'm going to go look for him as soon as I can," he announced as he started to climb back down the tree.

Al's grip slipped on the bark and the General caught him under the arms, placing the young alchemist back on the ground. "Alphonse?" the General asked, his lips curled in a half-smirk. "When you find your brother, remind him he still owes me a report, will you?"

Al grinned, highly relieved to find someone else who hadn't given up on Brother and duly gave the General his word.

###

Two years later, Lieutenant-General Mustang was briefly hospitalised after being found unconscious in his office. Apparently someone had tossed a folder containing a particularly lengthy report at his head. Unfortunately, it vanished from the evidence locker shortly afterwards and the culprit was never found. The newly returned Fullmetal Alchemist was quick to assert that his appearance in Central Command that day was completely coincidental, and yes he had _asked_ for Bathroom Cleaning Duty. It was good for the soul.

* * *

Reviews?


	3. Oh hell : Monster

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: This entry won me 1st place for that weeks prompt. Probably because it creeped everybody out . . .

* * *

The smell of decaying flesh hit the young Lieutenant Colonel's nose like a hammer as he approached the door of the house. Behind him, his subordinate sniffed gingerly, a look of disgust appearing on her face.

"You can smell it too?" he asked.

"Yes," Hawkeye answered quietly. "Someone's dead in there."

The dark-haired alchemist nodded and then stepped forward and gave the door a determined shove. It slammed open and the outside sunlight filtered in, illuminating the room. The nauseating smell was far worse inside and the alchemist gagged and covered his mouth.

"Oh, hell," Roy whispered as he took in the sight of the room. The complex array, the misshapen blackened pile of flesh at its centre. The body of the child with an arm and part of a leg sheared off with brutal precision, cradled in the hands of an antique suit of armour soaked in the child's blood. The blood trail across the floor. The frozen terrified look somehow still evident on the boy's rotting face.

"The poor child," his lieutenant whispered as she walked forward into the room. "What happened here?"

"Human transmutation, from the look of that array," her superior half-snarled. The he let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair as he always did when something confused him. "But I don't understand. Whoever did this was trying to raise someone. Why kill a child? And why in such a terrible way? It wouldn't have taken long for him to bleed out, but cutting off someone's limbs isn't exactly easy. And why leave him posed like that? Why not bury him or hide any of the evidence?"

"Maybe they wanted it to be found?" Hawkeye suggested quietly.

Roy stared at the bizarre tableau, the way the mutilated child was held by the suit of armour as if the dead body was as precious as gold. His eyes watered from the gut-wrenching smell of decay and he blinked. Just for a second the armour's eyeholes flashed red, glowing like coals from a fire. Roy breathed as shallowly as he could and stepped closer. He crouched down, watching the armour carefully. But no, the eyeholes were blank and dark. It had just been a trick of the light, he decided.

"What kind of sick monster would _want _people to see this?" he growled. He coughed as he accidentally took a deep breath of the fetid air, tasting the stink of dried blood and bodily decay. For a moment, he was back in another place that had been stained with blood and death, quickly burned away by the sun and sand. Rage rose within him as he stared at the dead child, it's mouth still open in pain, the clouded golden eyes wide with horror.

Roy rose, sickened and enraged, and strode out of the house with Hawkeye following close behind him. A few feet from the door, he fell to his knees, retching on the grass. The rotting child's horrified expression flickered in his mind and his stomach heaved until it hurt to breathe.

"Why?" he murmured to himself, rage rising as Hawkeye hauled him upwards, speaking quietly, encouraging him to take things slowly. "Why would someone do that to a child? It couldn't have helped the array, what was the point? What was the damn _point?"_

"Sir," Hawkeye said a tremor in her normally unshakeable voice, "please, be calm. You need to decide what to do now."

Roy blinked, his vision still clouded by revulsion and rage. He turned to look at the house, the cheerful whitewashed front concealing the horror within. There was only one answer his rage-fogged mind could think of.

He threw out his hand and snapped. The house burst into flames. In minutes it was nothing but a smoking ruin, the grotesque contents burned to ashes.

"Sir, stop," Hawkeye said carefully, laying her hand on top of his and lowering it, "you've just destroyed evidence of a crime."

"Oh . . . shit," Roy muttered as the red rage receded and his head cleared. "Shit. That was stupid. I-"

His words were cut off by the sound of something stirring in the blackened wreckage of the house. Debris shifted and fell to the ground as a huge figure rose and pushed it to the side. Both soldiers' mouth dropped open in horrified astonishment.

The suit of armour, blackened from the fire and half melted in places, was trudging towards them. The remains of the dead boy's skeleton, scoured of flesh by the Flame Alchemist's fire, was still cradled in it's arms. The eyeholes of it's helm were lit with unearthly red light, glowing with fury as it walked slowly towards them. Roy snapped his fingers, surrounding the armour in a pillar of fire. Still it trudged forward, little slivers of melting metal running from the eyeholes of the armour, giving it the chilling appearance of a man in tears.

But it was not a man's voice that echoed from the suit as the blonde lieutenant unloaded her gun at it.

"You burned my Brother!" a child wailed, it's voice echoing and metallic. "You burned Brother! You burned my Brother!"

The soldiers backed away from the armour as it continued to wail and walk towards them, the skeleton in it's hands slowly falling apart.

"What kind of alchemy is this?" Lieutenant Hawkeye demanded, a horrified edge in her voice as she fired at the metal man. The sound of the bullets echoed oddly, as if the armour was hollow inside.

"I don't know," Roy answered her as he snapped his fingers again, causing more the armour to glow with heat. "But the sooner it's destroyed, the better."

He gave one more decisive snap of his fingers. Power rushed through the array and expanded the spark created by his gloves. The armour was bathed in a pillar of blue flame, melting like snow under the sun. The wailing stopped and the metal suit collapsed onto the ground.

Hawkeye shuddered. "What kind of madman would create that thing?" she wondered.

* * *

Reviews?


	4. Flush : Cheater

Diclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

_Note to self, _the Flame Alchemist thought as he surveyed the little brown stacks on the portable travel-table. _If in future you end up on another train journey with Fullmetal, do not agree to play cards with him. _

They were not, of course, playing for actual money. Roy had learned from the experience of his subordinates, who were now trying desperately to scrape up a stake so that they could make an attempt to win back their pay-checks, and craftily suggested using a bag of Ed's favourite chocolates instead. In retrospect, that had been a mistake. The little blond now seemed even more determined to win.

"C'mon Colonel," the pint-sized card shark said impatiently. "Time to show me what you've got."

Roy bit back on a retort that would've been highly inappropriate and duly showed his cards. "Full House."

"Hah! Royal Flush," Ed declared triumphantly as he displayed his own hand. But as he leaned forward to collect his winnings, the train jolted suddenly and a small silver contraption flew out of Ed's sleeve.

"What-" Roy began in surprise.

"Gotta-go-use-the-jacks," Ed babbled and by the time Roy got a close look at the odd little device, Fullmetal had already disappeared out the compartment door at a dead run. The other men in the car however, had realised what it was immediately.

"That little cheater!" Havoc roared. "After him!"

Roy sighed and leaned back in his seat as his staff chased after the little alchemist. "Guess the chocolate is mine then."

* * *

Reviews?


	5. Repairs: Beyond Help

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Kain Fuery gazed at the sizzling remains of the radio in front of him and sighed. Beside him, 2nd Lieutenant Havoc shifted guiltily.

"So . . . " Havoc began hopefully, "you can fix it, right?"

Fuery sighed again. "Lieutenant, I'm a technical expert. Not a miracle worker."

"So you can't fix it?"

"No."

"You're sure? 'Cos the Colonel's due back any minute and well . . ." Havoc trailed off, his expression contriving to indicate that if the Colonel returned to find the newly requisitioned radio, which had arrived only this morning, now barely more than a pile of sparking wires, then he, Havoc, would be up the creek without a paddle. Or in this case, even less likely to get a date than usual owing to lack of eyebrows.

Fuery looked again at the sparking mess, which only two scant hours ago had been a gleaming new addition to his workday and sighed yet again. Havoc shot him an irritated look. Fuery ignored it and, taking in the sight of ruined top-of-the-line technology, let out another heartfelt sigh.

The new radio had been delivered to replace the previous one which had been so old and clapped out that it was only barely more use than the scrap metal now littering Fuery's desk. Even Edward Elric had given up on it, after having confidently clapped his hands as usual and only succeeding in making the rest of the paint flake off. Fuery had then declared it irreparable by any means and begged the Colonel to let him fill out a requisition form for a new model. The Colonel, still in a good mood from watching Ed stalk off in a huff muttering about badly designed radios, had agreed readily, for once seeming not to care about extra paperwork.

And now that beautiful new radio, gleaming paint and smooth metal with not even the tiniest dent or scratch on it, was nothing more than a pile of debris, only fit for the rubbish dump. One of the Elrics could possibly have saved it, but they were both on a train headed for New Optain and thus out of reach.

Just then, the radio sparked alarmingly, and as both soldiers leaned away from it, they failed to notice the office door opening. "Master Sergeant Fuery?" the voice of God a.k.a. Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, demanded. "What is that awful mess on your desk?"

"Our new radio, Colonel sir," Fuery squeaked out, his panicked brain dimly noticing Havoc edging towards the door.

"What?" the Colonel asked in disbelief, staring at the stricken thing. "Well, what the hell happened to it?"

"Well, uh, it. . ." Fuery stammered, wilting under the Colonel's not-quite glare.

"Fueryspilledhiscoffeeonitsir," Havoc yelped in one breath, and then rushed out the door with a shouted excuse that he had forms to deliver to the Records Office.

As the Colonel's enquiring, not-exactly-a-glare intensified, Fuery gulped and swore that his revenge upon Jean Havoc would be slow and painful.

* * *

Reviews?


	6. Tired: While You Sleep 1

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Not written for fma_fic_contest, though its companion piece next week was.

* * *

Ed felt tired. More tired than he ever had in his life. Which was weird, because he was pretty sure he was already asleep. How could you feel tired when you were asleep? It didn't make sense. Ed hated when things didn't make sense.

He was vaguely aware that he could feel some pain and hear strange noises, but they were quiet and seemed so far away.

". . . re . . .ou ins. . . ?"

That definitely sounded like a voice, Edward thought slowly. A _familiar _voice. Definitely someone he knew, or trusted.

No, Ed's instincts said fuzzily as they started to wake, he didn't trust that voice. Well, not very much. But sometimes he thought that they were almost an okay person. Didn't he?

"What . . . ible reas. . . hare-brained . . . eme?

The voice was still speaking, but Ed couldn't make out the words properly. He felt as if someone had packed his ears in cotton wool, and his head was beginning to ache. It would be so good to sink deeper into sleep and block the irritating noises out forever. He was so tired. Couldn't the voice just shut up and let him rest?

"You . . . 'posed. . . genius!" Ed heard distantly. The voice was louder now. But his ears didn't feel any better. Was he being shouted at?

_Go away,_ Ed thought tiredly. _I just want to sleep. Leave me alone._

But the voice kept on, louder, but still almost drowned out by the wool that seemed to be covering Ed's ears.

"Wha . . . yo. . .nking? Usin. . . ain . . . all?"

The voice sounded angry and for some reason, Ed felt like he should be grinning. Making the voice angry was always fun. Wasn't it?

Well, maybe. But not now. Now making it angry just made it interrupt his sleep. And he wanted to sleep. So, so much. _Shut up,_ he willed the voice. _Please shut up? I've worked so hard and I'm so tired. Please?_

To Ed's irritation, his silent pleading had the opposite effect. The voice grew louder again, and even angrier than before.

'"How dare . . . do this?. . . brothe. . .ody back . . . dare. . . leav. . . now? Alphonse. . eeds. . . I still . . . Wake _up_. . at's . . . order Fullmetal!"

Fullmetal? That was a name? Yes. Ed's other name. And Alphonse. . . important. Alphonse was very important. The most important thing. He was supposed to answer. But he was tired. So tired. Even opening his eyes seemed like too much work. The voice could get lost for all he cared, Ed decided. He was busy having a nap.

And blessedly, the noisy voice seemed to understand him this time. It fell silent. Ed sighed and started to sink back into the soft sleep it had started to tear him from.

And then, "who. . I kid. . you. . . list . . . my orders?"

The voice was still here. _Go away. . . _Ed thought forlornly. _I'm sleeping. Go away._

But something in him did wake. The voice no longer sounded angry. It was sad. Someone was sad because of him? And _that_ voice? No, Ed thought. That voice wasn't supposed to sound sad. That voice was supposed to be. . . annoyed, angry, smug, happy. Not sad. Not for Ed.

Something twisted in Ed's chest and for a moment it hurt to breathe. _Don't be sad . . . _

"Fullmetal?" the voice said, and now it seemed filled with sudden hope. "Edward? Can you hear me? C'mon kid, give me a sign here!"

_I want to, _Ed thought. But it hurt too much. The more he woke, the more he could feel the pain. Every part of him seemed to be on fire. _I want to. . . to. . . sleep._

He dropped back into sleep with a sigh, and the burning seemed to fade away like a dream. That was better. Pain was bad. He'd had so much of it, more than he could stand, almost. He just wanted it to leave him alone. He felt better asleep, even better than before. There was something. . .

Distantly, Ed felt a warm, calloused hand stroke across his forehead, pushing his hair to the side. It felt so good, he could just stay like this, asleep in the warmth forever.

Then the voice came back, much softer than before. But somehow the words were so much clearer.

" . . .was so proud. . . you know," it said, affection and care filling it. ". . .always made me proud of you."

It was hard for Ed to breath again. For some reason, he felt as if he was going to cry.

". . . how could I be asked not to hope?"

Now he really was going to cry. The voice. . . the voice was _important_ too. Almost as important as Alphonse. The pain was coming back, but Ed ignored it this time. Waking up was more important now, pain be damned.

Slowly, Ed's brain came out of the wool it had been wrapped in along with his ears, losing the memory of the dreamlike world of phantom voices and tiredness as he struggled to wake up. He could hear a man talking, someone familiar. Bastard. Mustang. Something about scorching people. The pyromaniac. There was a smell, too. Disinfectant. Tightly wrapped cloth around his limbs. Small patches on his face. That meant. . . a hospital? Fuck.

Mustang was still talking, but in Ed's determination to wake up, he had lost track of the man's words. What was the Colonel saying now?

". . . you impossible brat."

Ed tried to frown, but his facial muscles wouldn't co-operate. He was in a bed, probably a hospital bed, he guessed, now that his brain finally seemed to work again. _And the bastard is insulting me? Screw you Mustang! Just wait till I get my eyes – aargh, they feel like they're taped shut – open!_

"But the doctor's right, isn't he?" he heard Mustang say in a tone that seemed almost dead. "There's nothing anyone could do. Only you, and you're . . ." Mustang's voice trailed off and Ed, who, for some reason he couldn't quite understand, couldn't bear to hear the Colonel say anything more in a voice so devoid of any feeling, finally managed to crack an eye open.

The first thing he saw was the Colonel, with an incredibly gratifying look of shock on his face (and why the hell were the man's eyes all red? Had he been cutting onions?) with his hand raised, jerking away from Ed's face. _Bastard was probably going to slap me awake,_ Ed thought suspiciously, giving Mustang a hostile glare.

"That doctor's . . . full of . . . shit, Mustang," Ed managed to say, though it felt like someone had poured glue down his throat and left it to dry. "Now shut up for go'ssake. I'm tryin' to rest here." With that, he shut his eyes, determined to get some sleep and not get out of bed until Al came to drag him out. Speaking of Al, where the heck was he anyway? He usually wouldn't move from the room whenever Ed ended up in the hospital. Probably went out to play with a kitten, Ed decided, forgoing the whereabouts of Al in favour of proper sleep.

To his surprise, the next sound he heard was a laugh. The Colonel, he of sarcastic quips and putdowns, who barely ever cracked more than his ever-present smirk in Ed's presence, was laughing. Deep belly laughs, that sounded more like they should belong to Major Armstrong, filled the room.

_Well, great,_ Ed thought angrily, _I'm glad my apparent need for a hospital visit is so amusing, you damn Colonel._ He opened his eyes again, and glared at the laughing bastard. "Thought I told you to shut up."

###

After the Colonel had gone and a white-coated doctor with a nervous expression and a scorch stain on his pants came to give him a check up, Ed took a careful look around the room. It was plain, with white-washed walls, the bed, one bedside cupboard which probably held his clothes, and a chair. The door had been shut, and Mustang had been sitting in the chair.

_Must've imagined it then,_ Ed thought, with a disappointment he would never, ever, admit to feeling. _Guess there was no one here but the Colonel._

The words . . . _I was so proud of you. . .how could I be asked not to hope. . . _the gentle touch of a calloused hand on his forehead, wiping his hair out of his face.

No way that could've been the bastard Colonel, right?

Right?

* * *

Reviews?


	7. Surprise: Mustangche

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Not written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye prided herself on being a calm and patient woman, willing to bear almost any situation in stoic silence and correct the few unbearable ones with only a few well chosen words. It had made her an excellent sniper, an excellent aide, and now an excellent partner/fiancé (well, as soon as Roy worked up the nerve to give her the ring that he didn't know her friend Rebecca had spotted him buying last month).

But there were some days on which even Riza was caught completely off guard and today was one such day. Political circumstances beyond her control had meant that while Roy had spent the last two weeks in Central in conference with Fuhrer Grumman and the other generals, Riza had had to stay behind in East City. He was due home this morning and Riza had got up early to do a quick clean-up in anticipation of this fact.

So when the doorbell rang, Riza answered it before whoever was outside could manage a second ring. As expected, it was Roy, and Riza eagerly drank in the sight of him, automatically checking him for any sign of injury or illness. That was when she saw _it_ and her happiness at seeing him safe and sound was temporarily blindsided by her shock at the _thing _over his upper lip.

"I – you- face- moustache," she managed, adequate words slipping from her grasp.

Roy beamed. "I think it makes me look more distinguished, don't you?" he asked proudly.

Riza reminded herself that she had seen many more terrible things in her life and pulled herself together. "Roy," she said gently, "you look as if you've been drinking chocolate milk and forgot to wipe your face."

And out it came, as she had known it would: the classic Roy 'kicked puppy' Mustang look.

"It does?" he said in his hurt-little-boy tone that made her want to hug him and wrap him in a blanket. "I thought it lent me an air of debonair mystery. _Je ne sais quos,_ as the Cretans say."

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "Hold on a moment." And she went in search of a razor.

Roy stared after his significant other, who, instead of giving him the expected enthusiastic welcome home, had left him standing in the doorway. "It can't be that bad. Can it?"

* * *

Reviews?


	8. Are You Insane: While You Sleep 2

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest prompt 69. Won 1st place.

* * *

"Are you insane?"

The words echoed in the small, whitewashed room, an unexpected change from the silence that had formerly only been broken by the soft, steady breathing of the young man lying on the bed.

"What possible reason could you have had for going through with such a hare-brained scheme? You're supposed to be a genius, a prodigy! All that intelligence you're supposed to have-" the questioner paused, "supposed to have had," he corrected himself, the words choked around the lump in his throat, "between your ears and you couldn't think to use your common sense? What were you thinking? Were you even using your brain at all?"

There was still no answer from the young man, but his visitor hadn't really expected one anyway. Not after what he'd been told by the sombre white-coated doctor who had let him in.

"You're not brain-dead, but you're not far off. A coma. You're alive, but they don't think you'll ever wake up. Do you- do you even know what a _waste_ that is? You could- _would_ have been so amazing, done so many incredible things. You would have," he repeated slowly, his eyes starting to water. "You would have."

Outside a cloud moved slightly, and bright, cheery sunshine streamed in the window, falling on the young man's face. To his visitor, the life-giving light came as final mockery. It was morning now, the world was preparing to wake up and face the new day. But the brilliant, beautiful person asleep in the hospital bed never would. He would stay asleep, like golden-haired royalty cast down by a wicked witch's spell.

"How dare you do this?" he snarled, suddenly angry at the sleeping boy. "You haven't got your brother's body back yet. How dare you leave him now? Alphonse needs you. I still . . . just wake up. Wake _up_ dammit! That's an order Fullmetal!"

There was no answer. No smart-mouthed come-back, no sarcastic salute. Just quiet, even breathing.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Roy said sadly. "When have you ever listened to my orders?"

Edward's breathing hitched suddenly and Roy froze. Maybe. . . Didn't they say people in comas could subconsciously hear the waking world? "Fullmetal? Edward? Can you hear me? C'mon kid, give me a sign here!"

But no. The moment passed and Edward's breaths returned to quiet even things, terrible in their simple monotony.

"So much for hope," the Colonel murmured. "I suppose I should have accepted that the doctors know what they're talking about. But I couldn't," he said, reaching out to wipe an errant blond hair from the boy's face. "I just couldn't. Everything that's happened to you, everything you've survived against all odds. I was so proud of you, you know," he confessed. "You always made me proud of you and I- I couldn't show it."

Edward didn't move, didn't twitch. Nothing to indicate Roy's words were reaching him. The Colonel continued anyway, feeling that some things had to be said. Even if it was too late for the boy to hear them.

"When you saved all those people in New Optain, I was so proud of you. You made me look good in my next meeting, but all I wanted to do was spend the whole hour telling those pompous twits I need to impress how amazing and brilliant _you _are. When this happened. . . how could I be asked not to hope?"

There was another tiny hitch in Edward's breath, but Roy knew it was nothing significant now and ignored it. "That bastard of a doctor," he told the sleeping boy. "He looked so smug. 'There's nothing we can do Colonel Mustang. I'm _terribly sorry._'" Roy scowled viciously. "No one using that tone of voice has the right to say they're 'terribly sorry'. Did he think I couldn't see he didn't care?"

Edward slept on, silent and peaceful.

"I wanted to incinerate him," Roy continued. "But Hawkeye stopped me. I only got to surreptitiously singe his backside. You'd have liked to see that I bet," he said, a trace of his usual smirk appearing. "Probably would've got it on camera and used it to blackmail me, you impossible brat."

Roy paused, looking down at the sleeping boy, imagining the evil triumphant grin he'd have in such a situation and smiled bitterly.

"But the doctor's right, isn't he?" he said. "There's nothing anyone could do. Only you, and you're . . ." He trailed off, sighing in regret and reached out again to stroke the boy's hair back- then jerked back in shock when Ed cracked an eye open.

"That doctor's . . . full of . . . shit, Mustang," the boy rasped. "Now shut up for go'ssake. I'm tryin' to rest here."

Roy stared, his jaw nearly hitting the floor as Ed shut his eye again and began to snore. Then he laughed out loud. He laughed again and again, and suddenly found he was laughing far too hard to ever stop.

Ed opened his eyes again, a disgruntled look on his bandaged face. "Thought I told you to shut up."

###

"Sir," Hawkeye says, handing him a handkerchief, "you might want to clean your face before you talk to General Grumman. The, ah, rain has stained it."

"No, it hasn't, Lieutenant," he says with a smile. "They're just tears."

* * *

Reviews?


	9. Tempt: Rules

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

In the Elric house, there were some very specific rules.

One: Do not touch Mommy's tools without permission.

Two: Do not touch Uncle Al's alchemy books without permission.

Three: Do not touch Daddy's red mug. Ever.

To the young Trisha Elric, it was the last rule that was the most tempting to break. Mommy's tools, though shiny and interesting, were a little too heavy for her four year old hands to lift. Uncle Al's alchemy books _were_ interesting, but they were on a high shelf, which meant that Trisha couldn't get her hands on them, even with the aid of a chair.

That left Daddy's mug. It was the only thing in the house which Trisha wasn't supposed to touch that she _could_ get her hands on.

Of course, normally Trisha was a good girl. She loved her Mommy and Daddy and tried never to do anything that she knew would get her in trouble.

But today, there was one small difference. Today, Trisha was bored. Mommy was outside playing with her older brother, Daddy and Uncle Al were busy banging something up on the roof and the Forbidden Red Mug of Daddy was _right there._

Just one small sip, Trisha promised herself. Daddy would never know.

Half an hour later, Winry walked into the kitchen in search of band-aid for her accident prone first-born.

"Ed!" she yelled, upon seeing the wreckage. "What have I told you about not leaving your coffee mug where the kids can get it?"

* * *

Reviews?


	10. Fake: Endless Search

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

The boy moved with purpose through the thronging crowd, ducking and diving to effect the quickest route to the front. Somewhere ahead of him someone declared "Come one, come all! Come and see the magnificent feats of Alchemy performed by the People's Alchemist! Edward Elric!"

The boy's heart quickened in excitement and he finally managed to squirm through the press of the crowd to the front. He raised his head expectantly, looking for the person he had sought for what seemed like a life time, and looked up- into deep blue eyes.

A second later, the self-proclaimed 'People's Alchemist' found himself being beaten soundly by a boy who was younger, smaller and a good deal tougher than he had always thought himself to be.

"I didn't mean nothing by it," the unfortunate young man tried to say between punches. "It was just to make a quick cenz, honest!"

A surprisingly strong swipe of a leg tripped him up, depositing him on his backside and the charlatan glared up at his attacker. "Who the hell are you anyway?" he demanded.

The younger boy drew back, wiping dust off of his coat and pushing back the sleeves meaningfully. The glare he wore was surprisingly vicious and out of place on his innocent looking face. "I'm Alphonse Elric," he spat. "Don't _ever _use my brother's name again!"

###

Brigadier General Roy Mustang looked up from his paper at the sound of a key scraping in the lock of his front door and glanced at the calendar with a frown. A minute later, his visitor walked disconsolately into the sitting room and flopped onto the couch with a yawn.

"You're back already Alphonse?" he asked in a gentle tone, noting the boy's downcast expression. "I wasn't expecting you back until Saturday."

"Yeah."

Mustang covered up a wince. Monosyllabic answers were not good. Clearly the promising lead he'd found for Al had fallen through.

"Bad results?" he asked carefully.

Al heaved a sigh. "Just another fake."

For a moment the boy was silent. Then he let out a growl of frustration. "I just don't get it," he said softly. "Why do people pretend to be Brother? I know he was famous and stuff, but he's really just, just- Ed! Why would anyone want to be Ed?"

Mustang regarded the twelve-year-old, taking in the black jacket, shirt and pants, the long blond hair tied into a high ponytail and of course, the red coat with the black Flamel adorning its back.

"Why indeed?" he murmured quietly.

Al looked up at him, a confused look on his too-young face. "Roy?"

Mustang shook his head. "Never mind Al," he said, rising to his feet. "The kettle should have boiled by now. Come and have some tea."

Al made a face. He did like tea, but he didn't really share or understand his guardian's obsession with the liquid. "If I agree to have tea," he bargained, "will you shave It off?"

Roy groaned. "Doesn't anyone like my moustache?"

"No."

* * *

Reviews?


	11. Standard: Regulations

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for Fma_fic_contest. Won 1st place!

* * *

As an armed force, the Amestrian military had many rules, all of which had been deemed essential to the proper running of said military. However, there was one, that over the years had become subject to various updates and edits.

_Regulation 34:All members of the military shall wear the standard uniform when on duty. All members shall also have the regulation haircut. No exceptions. Failure to obey shall result in two days detention in the brig. _

###

Major General Armstrong's visit to Central, coupled with an overly officious remark from an officer temporarily her superior, resulted in two amendments to this regulation.

_Amendment 34(a)(i) Long hair is permissible, provided it is tied back at all times._

_Amendment 34(a)(ii) Generals above the rank of Brigadier may wear their hair however they damn well please._

###

Some years after the General's visit, Colonel Mustang was forced to refer to regulation 34 at the insistence of his superiors, in an effort to make the Fullmetal Alchemist wear a uniform. He was briefly successful.

However, after the sight of the sixteen-year-old in the Amestrian military's blue and gold almost caused three separate traffic accidents and lost the Colonel his title as Central's most eligible bachelor, a further amendment was added.

_Amendment 34(b)(i) State Alchemists operating in the field may wear whatever plain clothes they please, within reason._

###

General Hakuro's offhand comment some time later, that the young man should voluntarily cut his hair or have it forcibly done, resulted in his being declared the subject of a boycott by the entire female secretarial staff, now otherwise known collectively as Edward Elric's fanclub. It also resulted in Lt. Col Maes Hughes capturing one of the most spectacular looks of horrified denial ever to grace Colonel Roy Mustang's face on camera.

The General, confronted for the first time with the damage that people who specialised in dealing with tedious paperwork could do when they put their minds to it, not to mention a curiously vengeful Flame Alchemist, quickly added another amendment.

_Amendment 34(b)(ii)Additionally, State Alchemists may wear any preferred hairstyle within reason._

###

"Brother, what are _you _doing looking up the regulations handbook?" Al asked in surprise.

Ed waved the aforementioned book distractedly. "Trying to find a rule against it. There's got to be one here somewhere. Then he'll have to get rid of it!"

Al sighed. "Brother, give it up. There is no rule against General Mustang having a moustache." There was a pause. "Even if it does look like a horrible case of hair-lip," Al conceded.

"Then I'll just have to make one," Ed declared, clapping his hands and pressing them to the dog-eared copy of '_Regulations of the Amestrian Military'_. A second later, Al pulled the altered book out of his brothers hands and glanced at the open page. Sure enough, there was now an Amendment 34(c).

_Amendment 34(c) No butt-ugly moustaches!_

"Brother, you'll have to alchemically alter every copy of the regulations in Amestris. It'll take forever."

"It'll be _worth_ it!"

* * *

Reviews?


	12. SymbolismSymbolic: Tools

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

The bar was dimly lit, smoky and the only reason it didn't fit the traditional 'hive of scum and villainy' description was the self respecting villains had long ago migrated to the brightly lit bars and restaurants on main street where you didn't have to squint to see what you were eating, could safely wear expensive suits and there was coffee available that didn't seem suspiciously similar to tar.

Still, some of the bar's original patrons had remained customers, out of habit if nothing else. Thus it was difficult, but still possible, to find certain people who would do any kind of job as long as the pay was good.

Such was the case this evening, as two men sat in the corner, talking quietly over (dreadful) drinks. One, a tall man dressed in a neat grey business suit, was obviously _not_ a regular patron, while the man who sat across from him, a small man with shaggy brown hair, wearing a faded leather coat and heedlessly downing a glass of beer that only couldn't be described as tasting of dung because it would be an insult to dung everywhere, obviously was.

"The Flame Alchemist?" the small man confirmed. "Skills in combat alchemy an' a vet'ren of both tha' Ishbal conflict and tha' coup against King Bradley a few months 'go."

"Attempted coup," his client said smoothly. "Fuhrer King Bradley was killed by traitors despite Major General Armstrong and Brigadier General Mustang's valiant attempts to save him."

"Sure, sure," the small man agreed with a smile. "Either way, you want him outta tha picture, yes?"

"My employer does," the client corrected. "The General is becoming very inconvenient. He has lost his value as tool my employer can use."

The shaggy-haired man hmmd. "Sure would like ta know who I'm workin' for," he mused.

"Regrettably, I am not at liberty to reveal their identity, but I understand that a large quantity of money usually cures any such curiosity, yes?"

"Sure does," the assassin said. "A _very _large quantity, mind you. This is gonna be a difficult job. Alchemists are . . .tricky."

His client raised an eyebrow. "If the job is too difficult for you-," he began.

The assassin waved vaguely. "No, no. Jus' means it's a challenge. Like I said, alchemists can be tricky. Full of surprises."

The grey-suited man snorted indelicately. "Well Mustang isn't one of them. Get rid of his precious gloves or dunk him in water and he's harmless. Just remember to make sure it looks as if Cretans did it. My employer would prefer that General Mustang be remembered as a brave war hero and noted patriot, murdered in his own home by foreign devils. After all, there's nothing like a good tragic symbol to get people behind a war effort."

The assassin laughed. "I'll drink to that. Cheers!"

The taller man glanced at his glass and winced. "I think I'll pass.

###

Roy knelt down next to the man who had tried to kill him and turned his head towards him. "Who were you working for?" he asked, not really expecting an answer from the dying man. "Hakuro? Fuller? Someone else?"

The shaggy-haired man let out a gurgling cough. "Don't know," he rasped happily. "Make it a . . . point. . . not to."

"Of course," Roy sighed. "And if you did know-"

"I wouldn't . . . tell ya," the assassin finished, his breathing becoming even more laboured. "But maybe there's somethin' you . . . can tell me?"

"Perhaps."

The dying man gestured weakly to the shredded pair of ignition gloves on the floor. "You don't . . . need 'em. Why keep 'em? Why use 'em?"

"To make people think they have disarmed me when they truly haven't. Overconfidence is the downfall of many men."

The assassin glared with what was left of his face. "I'm dyin'. . . At least gimme. . . the truth, ya bastard."

Roy looked at the shredded red and white cloth for a moment before he replied.

"I still use them because they remind me that I did terrible things with them." He paused. "Things I must never forget. They're a constant reminder of the innocents I've hurt, of the goal I must reach to ensure those things never happen again. A reminder of why I had to hurt someone precious to me so that no one else would ever have the opportunity to find such power."

"So tools turned inta symbolic things, huh?"

"Yes."

The assassin smiled.

"Good answer," he said, and died.

* * *

Reviews?


	13. Alternate Universe: Discussion

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest. Won first place!

* * *

The Eds regarded each other.

"So. . ." Animé Ed said slowly. "You got your arm back."

"Yep," Manga Ed said happily. "Had to have a few bits of left over automail removed later, but it's pretty much good as new."

"And you got to stay in Amestris?"

"Uh huh," Manga Ed nodded. "Al an' I are finishing off the new house."

"Right," Animé Ed muttered. "I forgot about that. You're dating Winry. And Al actually looks as if he's related to you and didn't end up five-years younger than you."

His counterpart sighed slightly with happiness. "Yeah."

"And of course, Sloth wasn't a cheap copy of Mom and Envy didn't turn out to be _your_ half-brother," Animé Ed muttered bitterly.

Manga Ed just nodded in relief.

"But hang on, Colonel Bastard lost his sight in both eyes instead of just needing a patch, right?"

"Er yeah," Manga Ed said. "For a while. But then Doctor Marcoh turned up and gave him some leftover philosopher's stone, so he can see _and_ do alchemy the way we used to."

Animé Ed's face began to turn red. "Marcoh's alive?"

"Hmm. . . oh yeah, he's fine," Manga Ed replied. "Why? What happened to . . .oh. Oh right. Gluttony?"

"Yes," Animé Ed hissed through gritted teeth. Then he blinked. "Wait a minute, your Bastard can do clap-alchemy now?"

"Well, yeah. Him, Al and Teacher."

"Teacher's alive?"

"Of course she is," Manga Ed said, slightly confused. Then he remembered. "Oh right. That movie screwed up a _lot_ for you guys, huh?"

"We don't talk about that . . .thing," Animé Ed snarled.

"No kidding," Manga Ed agreed cheerfully. "I can see why you wouldn't want to. If Bones had stuck me in a parallel universe where Hughes was a jerk, I wouldn't wanna talk about it either."

"Yeah. Hughes," Animé Ed said quietly. Manga Ed caught his eye.

There was a brief moment of shared empathy for the loss of Hughes.

"Anyway," Manga Ed said loudly to get over the awkward moment, "we both lost our ability to do alchemy. We're even there, right?"

"I _don't_ think so," Animé Ed protested. "You chose to give up your alchemy. I lost mine from being dropped in an alternate world."

"Well at least you're in a world where no one will notice it's missing?" Manga Ed suggested. "It's seems like a nice enough world, Jerk-Hughes notwithstanding."

Animé Ed glared. "You do _know _there's a world war on the way?"

"I'm sure you'll be just fine," Manga Ed said with a nervous grin. "Nothing to worry about."

Animé Ed began to mutter under his breath. Occasionally the words 'BONES', 'damn depressing ending jerks' and 'gonna kill them all' became audible. Manga Ed just shook his head wearily.

"Still though," he said, "I can't believe they made your Colonel responsible for Aunt and Uncle Rockbell dying. That was just mean."

Animé Ed jerked out of his sulk, panic written all over his face. "Crap! I hope he didn't hear you!"

But it was evidently too late, as both Eds soon felt a truckload of angst emanating from behind them.

They looked around to see Animé Roy in the corner with a glass of whisky, a look of serious self-loathing on his face. Animé Ed groaned. "Oh thanks," he said sarcastically to Manga Ed. "It's going to take forever to get him out of his corner of woe. You just had to mention Winry's parents, didn't you."

"Oops, sorry," Manga Ed said sheepishly. "So, is he like this all the time?"

"No," Animé Ed sighed, "but it does happen more frequently than we'd prefer."

"How pathetic," a voice behind them announced. "It is terrible what BONES will do to a man. As if his show even needed any more pointless angst."

Manga Ed looked over his shoulder. "Oh hello Colonel. I was wondering when you'd get here."

"Fullmetals," Manga Roy said, nodding to them. "Excuse me a moment."

He strode over to Animé Roy and began to talk quietly to the whisky drinking Flame Alchemist. To Animé Ed's grudging admiration, Manga Roy soon had his Animé counterpart upright and sober.

"Feeling better Bastard?" Animé Ed enquired. "You know, Winry's not mad at you anymore. You don't have to go on drinking binge every time someone mentions her parents."

Animé Roy glared at his version of Ed. "It wasn't because of _that_," he said rather unconvincingly.

Animé Ed raised a sceptical eyebrow. " Well, not just _that,"_ Animé Roy admitted."I also happened across some M-rated fanfic featuring King Bradley and Gate-baby-covered-Dietlinde Eckhardt. I was attempting to block out the memory with alcohol."

The other three shuddered in sympathy They were all aware of the terrors fanficcers could create.

"Why do they insist on being so pervy?" Animé Ed complained. "It seems I'm horny or pregnant every time I turn around!" Manga Ed nodded in agreement, a matching scowl on his face. "Or Winry's pregnant," Animé Ed added. "I mean jeez, in her case you'd at least figure out that we do have birth control."

The Mustangs shared a smirk, taking some comfort in the fact that at least in fanfics (yaoi or otherwise) featuring them, the authors generally cast them in the dominant role.

"Fullmetal, they're fan-ficcers. It's what they do," Animé Roy explained condescendingly. "And you have to admit," he continued smoothly, "some of the official art for our show, was a tad. . . suggestive."

"If I ever find that artist, I'll tear them limb from limb!" Animé Ed swore.

"Not that the official art for ours was much better," Manga Roy added. "It just had more women in it.

"And more Ling," Manga Ed reminded them.

There was a brief silence as they all considered this and avoided each other's gazes.

"Anyway," Animé Roy said, coughing hurriedly, "the fanfic writers aren't all bad."

"Oh no?" the Eds chorused, extreme disbelief radiating from them.

"No," Manga Roy said, predictably agreeing with his eye-patch wearing counterpart. He pointed. "Look."

The Eds looked.

"Isn't that-" Manga Ed began.

"Nope," Animé Ed interrupted. "I'm pretty sure they're the original versions. Mustang, what's going on?"

The Roys smiled. "Maes is very popular with the western fanbase," Manga Roy explained, as they watched Manga Hughes and Animé Hughes squeal over each other's pictures of Elysia. "They keep resurrecting him."

"Oh. Well, alright," Animé Ed conceded. "They're not one hundred percent evil, I guess."

"Not to mention they keep coming up with creative ways of ridding you of that _thing_," Animé Roy said to his counterpart.

"Huh?" Animé Ed said curiously. "What thing?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Manga Roy said quickly, glaring at Animé Roy. "There is no Thing!"

"But-"

"No!" Manga Roy insisted. "It didn't appear in the final chapter of the manga, therefore it doesn't exist."

"But I distinctly saw-"

"It was a smudge on the screen," Manga Roy snarled. "Drop it, Eyepatch. I can do alchemy the same way as Fullmetal now. Do you want a demonstration?"

"All right, all right," Animé Roy said placatingly, holding up his hands. "I believe you." He smirked.

"Oh, go and hide in your Eskimo hut," Manga Roy snapped. "I still can't believe you just hibernated for two years because of losing one eye. I would never leave Hawkeye like that. For crying out loud, you had her hand-feeding you and everything. And you ran away from _that_? Some guys don't know luck when they see it! Grow some balls man," he muttered _in_ _sotto voce._

("1-0 to Manga Mustang," Animé Ed said quietly.)

"Oh yeah?" Animé Roy snarked. "At least I was actually able to kill Bradley. All you got was that overdeveloped ex-girlfriend of Havoc's. Whom _I _did not get paralysed, by the way."

"I got Envy! Which is more than I can say for you!"

"And you let him commit suicide instead of incinerating him," Animé Roy pointed out flatly. "So that doesn't count."

"Hey, I was showcasing the battle between revenge and my own humanity. I was tormented by the angst. Just look at the screencaps."

"Oh, was that tormented angst?" Animé Roy asked insincerely. "I'm sorry, I thought you were constipated."

"Say what you like, the fangirls melted at the sight," Manga Roy defended himself.

"Yes, and Hawkeye thought you were being an idiot," Animé Roy retorted. "You had to be talked down by Scar, of all people. Not to mention, Fullmetal pointed out how stupid you were being. The fifteen-year-old who goes berserk at any perceived slight to his height thought _you_ looked childish, losing your temper like that."

Manga Roy glared.

("And the score is now 1-1, with a fantastic comeback by Animé Mustang.")

"Actually," Animé Roy said smugly, "I believe there is one element of our universe, which despite the excess of downer endings makes ours, if not the superior, then at least the safer one in which to live."

"Oh yeah?" Manga Ed demanded. "And what's that?"

"Indeed, _Corporal,_" Manga Roy said, emphasising Animé Roy's inferior rank with glee. "Do tell."

Animé Roy smirked. "Three words Manga-boy: No. Olivia. Armstrong."

Animé Ed tilted his head in confusion. "Who's Olivia Armstrong?" he asked innocently.

Manga Roy and Manga Ed looked at Animé Roy and Animé Ed in jealous disbelief. Animé Roy continued to smirk.

There was momentary silence. Then:

"Get him!"

"Way ahead of you, Colonel!"

Animé Ed watched with amusement as his version of Mustang was chased over the horizon by the two furious Manga characters. "What a dumbass," he murmured to himself. "Even I know that you should never mention Olivia Armstrong to Manga Mustang. Oh well. Guess it's just me then."

Just as Ed was about to walk away in search of food, a hand clapped over each of his shoulders.

"Ed! There you are! Wanna see some pictures?" two delighted voices exclaimed.

Ed looked around in slowly growing dread and found that, yes, he had been captured by the two Hughes', who were both armed with photos of their respective families.

Faced with the sudden prospect of Hughes squeeing in stereo, Animé Ed did the only logical thing.

"AL! SAVE ME!"

###

Animé Alphonse paused briefly in his kitten petting. "Al?" he asked his Manga self. "Did you hear something just now?"

"What kind of something?" Manga Al said, picking up another kitten and placing it in his lap.

"I'm not sure, but I think somebody called our name."

"Eh," Manga Al said dismissively. "You were probably just imagining it. Look at this one, isn't he adorable! I named him after Brother."

"Awww!"

* * *

Reviews?


	14. Chess: My Queen

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Roy sat in his empty office, dazed by the disastrous turn of events.

The Fuhrer was a homunculus, planning something terrible for Roy's beloved country. The High Command were all in on it. Roy's team had been scattered to the ends of Amestris.

As he sat there, Roy's gaze was caught by the chess set Grumman had left him. His pawns, his rooks, his knights, his bishops. His queen.

The queen stood there, pale and stiffly upright among the scattered pieces. Roy picked it up, turning it over in his hand.

_Riza. My queen._

Historically, queens generally had one purpose. To marry the king and provide a suitable heir, possibly sealing an alliance into the bargain. They were not given a choice. The king or prince declared that they would marry them, or signed a document agreeing to do so, and that was that. Marriage agreed, end of story. Time to get on with having babies, going to parties and generally hanging onto the king's arm and looking pretty.

And then, Roy thought, there were the other sort of queens. The kind for whom their title actually did mean 'female version of the supreme ruler'. The kind who were an inspiration to their people. Beauty and deadly skill all in one package. The King's supporter, but also his equal. The kind of woman who would rally the troops, stride out on to the battlements of her castle, and inform the invading army that had just struck down her husband that they'd better get the hell out of there before she beat seven kinds of hell out of them.

The homunculi had sought to weaken him by scattering his army and placing his most precious subordinate directly at the Fuhrer's side. They had taken Roy's queen away from him and put her where they thought she couldn't do them any harm.

A ghost of a smile crossed Roy's face. Their mistake, he thought. There are two types of queens. Hawkeye was the better kind.

King Bradley was in for a nasty shock

* * *

Reviews?


	15. Connection: Doppelganger

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

As Roy flicked through the morning paper, he thought of his friends back in Amestris once again, and hoped that by now they had understood his decision.

Amestris had had a parliament and was well on it's way to democracy. Roy's dreams of being Fuhrer were not just dust, but pointless now.

He'd been trapped up north for two years, haunted by visions of Bradley's death, of the innocent Selim, who had died at the hands of the father he'd loved and sought to protect, saving Roy's life in the process. The ghosts of Ishbal had also returned, forever dancing just in the corner of Roy's blind eye.

The only time the spectres had vanished, was when Roy was running up that ramp of stone, the Elrics half a step behind him, ready to save the world. Standing on that otherworldly airship, watching the man he considered his baby brother start to say goodbye to his flesh and blood sibling, Roy had briefly snapped. He'd seen the shape of the future, the heartbreak that both brothers would live with, separated for the rest of their lives, and said no.

He smiled, remembering Edward's look of shock when Roy had vaulted through the air to land next to him and then bodily picked up the younger man and hurled him towards his younger brother.

"You close the gate on this side," Roy had yelled. "I'll take care of the other one."

"Colonel! Wait!" Ed had screamed. "You don't-"

But Roy had cut him off with a laugh. "There's nothing left here for me, Fullmetal," he had said. "But it's past time you came home to stay. Take care of each other!"

With that, Roy had left, arriving on another world and coming face to face with a dead man.

He shook his head, clearing it of old memories, and turned the page of the newspaper, immersing himself in a particularly interesting article. A couple of minutes later, the kitchen door opened and another man, taller than Roy, but not quite so dark-haired, walked into the room.

"Ach," the man groaned, reading the article over Roy's soldier. "What new insanity have they caused now? And what was I thinking to join up with them?"

Roy shook his head. "I'm just glad you got out of it while you had the chance."

"Ja," Meinhard Hughes agreed. "Me too. I just wish I had realised earlier what madmen I was associating with. Frankly, I am still surprised that we both got out of the country alive."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Roy replied. "The state your country is in, it's not surprising so many of it's people turned to someone who seems to be offering a solution to all their problems. They're tired, hungry and angry at the way the world is blaming them for causing your Great War.

"I suppose. By the way, you still have not explained why you punched the NSDAP's leader in the face," Meinhard recalled. "The Thule Society supported him yes, but he wasn't aware of how much they had done."

Roy shrugged. "Back home, there is a lot of unpleasantness associated with the rank he seeks. Also, I believe he is mad. I've had more than enough of insane Fuhrers."

Meinhard let out a laugh that was tinged with pain and bitterness. "Always, you must do the right thing, ja?"

"I guess I'm just an idealistic fool," Roy agreed.

"As was he," Meinhard murmured.

Roy blinked. "Huh?"

"You explained to me of these doppelgangers in your world, did you not? How I am the image of a dead man," the other man reminded him. "Did you never wonder if there was not another Roy Mustang here?"

"Oh. . ."

"Indeed," Meinhard agreed with a tight smile. "Oh. His name was Rolfe Nakamura. Like yourself, he was of mixed blood, with a German mother and a Japanese father. Also like yourself, mein freund, he was an idealist."

Past tense, Roy noted. "He died."

"Ja," Meinhard said bitterly.

"Meinhard. . ." Roy said tentatively. "If it isn't too painful, well, I would like to hear about him."

The taller man blew out a breath, and then sat in the chair opposite to Roy. "Alright," he agreed.

"We fought together during the Great War," Meinhard began. "Rolfe was the explosives expert in our squad and very good at his job. It weighed heavily on his mind, and the use to which he was forced to put his skills warred greatly with his idealism. Alsom he kept butting his head with our leader, Hauptmann Kembley."

"Hauptmann?" Roy asked.

Meinhard waggled his hand. "What is the english word? Kep- no, Captain. You would call him a Captain."

"What happened?" Roy asked carefully.

The other man sighed deeply, regret etched on his face. "The Haup- the Captain feared Rolfe. He was liked and repected by our squad, much more than Kembley was. Kembley wished to break Rolfe's will, to get him under control."

Roy had a sudden horrible feeling that he knew what was coming next.

"Kembley had been given charge of some prisoners," Meinhard continued. "Two doctors that had been caught treating the wounds of the enemy prisoners, against the wishes of the local kommandant. He was given orders to execute them and cheerfully ordered Rolfe to do his duty for him."

"And Rolfe obeyed orders," Roy sighed.

He did," Meinhard said. "But Kembley's plan succeeded too well. When I saw Rolfe afterwards, something had. . . broken inside him. He was like a dead man who had not yet laid down."

"The next day, I saw Rolfe walk past me with a gun in his hand. I remember thinking it strange. For all that Rolfe worked with explosives, he very rarely held a gun in his hand, not unless we were being attacked and he had to defend himself. But when he walked past me, he was swinging it from hand to hand like a toy."

Meinhard looked at Roy's suddely pale face and nodded. "You already know what happens next, I see. It took me a few minutes, but I realised something was badly wrong and ran after him. But. . ."

"You were too late," Roy whispered, remembering his own horror and self loathing at his crimes and the desire to end it all just to get away from the guilt and pain, before Marcoh and then Hughes had talked him out of it.

"I was," Meinhard admitted, his voice choking and slipping back into his native language. "I was right outside the door when the shot went off. I kicked it down, but. . . there was nothing left to do. Mein freund, mein Rolfe, er gegangen, gone."

Roy stayed silent, not wanting to embarrass the other man by pointing out how much he'd just accidentally revealed. Roy had learned that people on this world had odd attitudes to that sort of thing. Drawing attention to it would just make his friend defensive and angry, perhaps even ashamed. So he just waited quietly, resting his hand on Meinhard's arm and squeezing it gently, the quietest, most unobtrusive way he had to say that _I know this hurt you are feeling, I know how much it pains your heart._

"Your Hughes," Meinhard asked after a moment, "this Maes that you talked of. He got there in time, didn't he?"

"Yes he did," Roy said quietly.

Meinhard smiled sadly. "I am very grateful to him, Roy, for giving me the chance to meet you."

* * *

Reviews?


	16. Family: Children

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

After six years MIA, Edward Elric and his brother Alphonse had returned through the Gate to Amestris. Upon the military's discovery of their homecoming, they had been ordered to Central immediately to account for their whereabouts. Fortunately for the Elrics, the officer to whom they were ordered to report was the now Lieutenant General Mustang.

###

Mustang smiled broadly when the Elric brothers walked into his office. "Fullmetal, Alphonse, it's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, General," Alphonse said cheerfully, holding out a hand.

Roy dutifully shook Al's hand Then he turned his gaze on the dark-haired young woman who had entered with them, holding a small boy in her arms. "And who is this beautiful lady?" he enquired.

"This is Noa," Edward said stiffly. "My wife."

Roy blinked. "Ah." He quickly wiped the flirty smile off of his face. The last thing he needed today was an automail fist to the jaw.

He looked down at the toddler Noa was holding in her arms. Sure enough, the boy had his mother's thick brown hair and Edward's bright golden eyes. He looked to be about two or three years old. The boy smiled up at him at Roy and then turned to his father.

"Daddy?" the child asked, reaching out and pulling at Edward's arm. "Hungry."

"Shush Roy," Ed said absently, detaching the little hand from his sleeve. "Just a minute, okay?"

" 'kay," the little boy said.

Roy Mustang stared at the small boy and then at his former subordinate.

"Why Edward," the General drawled, "I'm touched."

Ed went red all the way to the roots of his hair. "This is why you should never name your kids after someone until you're absolutely sure you'll never see them again," he muttered. "Not a word Mustang. Just don't."

"I have no idea what you mean, Edward. Personally, I think it was an inspired choice on your part," Mustang said, grinning.

"Oh you can go straight to-"

"Edward!" Noa interrupted, looking meaningfully at little Roy, who was listening to the conversation with interest.

"Sorry."

* * *

Reviews?


	17. Pain: Determination

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Getting paralysed by his girlfriend had hurt.

The physical pain had been agonising, not to mention that feeling the blood drain from him and slowly take his life with it had been downright terrifying. The emotional pain at finally getting a girlfriend that the Colonel didn't steal, only to have her betray him and then attempt to murder both him and the Colonel, had hurt almost as much in a very different way.

Then, when he'd awoken in hospital, surprised at still being alive, there had been the strange not-pain of being paralysed, of knowing his legs were still attached, but not being able to feel them. When he had snarled at the Colonel to leave him behind, he had felt what it was like to be useless and a burden, and had thought '_does the Colonel feel like this when it rains? Man, no wonder he hates water.'_

But he remembered that back there in the darkness, the Colonel had found a way around his weakness and turned all that water in the tunnel to his advantage. Of course, it would be harder to figure out a way to turn the fact that he couldn't walk anymore to his advantage, but he figured he a lot of time to think now that he was out of the army. He'd figure out a way.

The way turned out to be going back into retail. After all, you didn't need to stand to arrange a shipment of arms to the right place at the right time. It had also come with a few other perks, such as his introduction to one Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina, who turned out to be a very interesting and accommodating woman.

The shock in Mustang's voice when he'd answered the phone to let the Colonel know just who'd supplied his weapons had been nice too.

The philosopher's stone the Colonel had brought to him later had repaired the severed nerves in his spine. But he'd been sitting on his ass for months and his legs were useless. It was going to take a lot of work to make them useable again, Dr Marcoh had warned him.

"Oh, and by the way, Lieutenant," the doctor had added, "it's going to hurt like hell."

There had been a lot of pain in Havoc's life. But as he took a step on his own for the first time in months, he thought that enduring this pain would be worth it. Especially if it meant that someday he'd get to take Becky dancing.

* * *

Reviews?


	18. Duty: Rebuild

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

In some ways, it was a relief to return to the desert. He had spent so much time in the cold north, and in the rainy cities of Central that he'd almost forgotten what proper heat felt like. For the first time in a long time, he felt at home.

But he could just lie there and bask in the sun. He was not a lizard, able to survive in the harsh wind and heat, with no water for months on end. He was human, in need of food, water and shelter. As his people would, when they began to return to their ruined cities and rebuild what had been destroyed by a monster trying to surpass god.

Thus, he began to work. There was much to be done, and it would be done in difficult conditions. This was not the green farmland of the west, it was the outskirts of the great eastern desert. A harsh environment, which would weed out those not strong enough to survive, those that it was now his duty to aid and protect.

He had spent so long glorying in destruction. In his rage and lust for revenge, he had not only visited judgement on the guilty, but taken the innocent lives of those who had only sought to give him aid and comfort. Now it was time that he began to help rebuild, to create instead of destroying.

He looked out across the sand. His people, and before them, the people of Xerxes. Despite everything it had to contend with, life had thrived here for thousands of years. With his aid, he would ensure that there was life in desert once again

* * *

Reviews?


	19. Genderswitch: Swap

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

_Note to self, _Ed thought as the smoke cleared, _when you don't know what an array does, don't touch it. It's only one of the very first thing an alchemist learns. You moron. _

He coughed and looked around. "Al?" he yelled. "Al, are you there? Answer me!"

More smoke cleared and Ed caught sight of Al's upside down suit of armour attempting to extricate itself from a pile of rocks. That reminded Ed of his own situation. His automail leg was trapped underneath a boulder and the array had torn his arm to bits when it exploded. He wouldn't be able to transmute himself free.

"Dammit. Hey! Is there anyone else here? Colonel? Lieutenant? Are you still there? We need help!"

To Ed's relief, familiar blue uniforms began to appear through the smoke. Mustang, Hawkeye and the rest of the Colonel' subordinate were making their way carefully across the collapsed rocks towards him. However, as Ed watched them approach, he was struck with a feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Ed squinted and the nagging feeling that something was off intensified as he got a closer look at his rescuers. What was the Colonel doing wearing a first lieutenant's uniform? Also, where were the paranoid bastard's ever-present gloves?

Furthermore, what the hell was Hawkeye doing wearing a Colonel's stripes? Had they accidentally worn each other's jackets? How could they possibly have-

_No, wait, _Ed decided, _I don't really want to think about that._

"Lt Mustang," Hawkeye said. "Get to Fullmetal. Find out how badly she's injured. We need to know that before we try freeing her, or it could make the situation worse.

Ed blinked as Mustang obediently made his way towards him. _She? Her? **Lieutenant **Mustang?_

"Hey, Eddie," Mustang called, in a friendly voice completely devoid of his usual arrogance. "Just hang on, okay? We'll have you out of here in no time."

Ed's mouth fell open.

_Okay, there's definitely something wrong here. . ._

###

_Okay, _Roy thought, _this is just weird. . ._

"Seriously?" the even shorter, female version of Fullmetal said incredulously to Lieutenant Hawkeye. "You take orders from Lieutenant Mustang? But he's a total dork!"

"That's _Colonel_ Mustang here, thank you very much."

Edwina Elric turned to the dark-haired man who was giving her an indignant look. "Whatever. Just help me reverse this so I can go home. Jeez," she muttered as Mustang stared at her with his mouth open. "What moron put you in charge?"

"Of this particular operation?" Mustang said smugly, regaining some of his mental balance. "The Fuhrer actually."

"Ahh," Edwina nodded understandingly. "So what you're saying, is that someone gave Fuhrer Hughes too much coffee."

There was a brief, stunned, silence.

"Hughes. . . is the Fuhrer in your world?" Mustang asked slowly.

"Well yeah, I doubt she'd be living in the official residence with her husband and daughter otherwise, right?"

* * *

Reviews?


	20. Brotherly Love: Perception

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest. Won 1st place!

* * *

When he'd opened the door to find Al standing there, General Mustang had stared in surprise for a moment and then invited him in. Al had been quickly steered towards the living room and told to make himself at home, while the General disappeared into the kitchen in search of tea.

So now, here he was, sitting on an overstuffed couch belonging to a man he barely knew and feeling at a disadvantage because said man, for various complicated reasons, seemed to know him pretty well.

As Al looked around the room curiously, wondering if the state of a man's living room really could tell someone anything about his personality, and his gaze was drawn by the framed photograph perched on top of the surprisingly ornate mantelpiece.

The picture was of a young General Mustang and another man who sported a pair of glasses. Both men were grinning at the camera, an arm comfortably around each other's shoulders.

As Al looked at the picture, he was struck with a sudden feeling of intense sadness. Though he couldn't remember meeting the man with the glasses, he knew without a doubt that the man was now dead.

Al traced a hand carefully across the picture, smiling sadly. The expression on both men's faces was one he knew well. It wasn't just friendship, it was a bond much deeper and more profound than could be suggested by that simple word.

"Hello," Al said quietly to the photograph. "You must be the General's brother."

* * *

Reviews?


	21. Storm: Crush

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed.

It didn't rain.

Instead the evening stayed dark and unbearably hot. The wind blew dust across the dry ground and into his mouth, making him gag and cough. He spat, then drew in a breath and found that the air itself tasted of blood and ash.

He could see others near him, all lying to themselves, all trying desperately to believe the taste didn't make them feel as alive as he knew it did.

One group in particular caught his attention and he leered at them, amused by their disgusted reactions. It was cute, really, the way they tried to pretend they were still normal people.

The knife-throwing lieutenant who was always talking about his girl, the blond sniper who was the deadliest shooter in this desert, and lastly, the sniper's obsession, the man she had followed into the military. His brother alchemist, the only one who came close to causing the same amount of destruction as he did. He leered again and was rewarded with a harsh glare.

He smiled, remembering how the dark-eyed man had looked, thrusting out his hand and snapping his fingers, incinerating an entire block of buildings in seconds. It had been a thing of beauty and he had watched, enthralled.

He'd given a demonstration of his own prowess. It had been impressive, as always. Disappointingly, his brother in arms had not looked awed at his power and skill.

But that was okay. This campaign would not be over any time soon. There was still plenty of time to show the other man what he could truly be capable of if he only tried.

It would be his pleasure.

* * *

Reviews?


	22. The Truth: Learner

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

The great white plain of existence in which It dwells is silent and cold. There is not even an echo of true sound.

It has all the knowledge It could wish, but there is nothing here. Nothing which It can engage with, nothing with which It could put it's knowledge to use. Nothing it can create or destroy.

And then the doorway opens for the first time. The human who appears is grey-haired and has saggy skin. It learns that this means the human is old, sixty years at least.

Sixty years does not seem like such a long time to It.

The human arrogantly demands It's name. Once It understands the concept, It decides that one name is not enough. It is Truth, It is God, It is One, and All.

The human demands more, insisting that It return something that It did not take. For the first time, It feels anger. It informs the human that It does not have what he is seeking.

The human also becomes angry and demands that It surrender the knowledge of how to obtain what he seeks.

It does not have this knowledge. Nothing does. But something about the human repulses It. His anger and arrogance, his confidence in his own superiority over It, so sure that he is right. So It gives him some knowledge. For a fair price.

Over time, more humans appear. All arrogant and angry. All demanding things from It that It did not take. It deals with them the same way, punishing them for their intrusion into It's home, for their arrogant demands.

As time goes on It thinks, why does It still do this? It knows humans now. It knows that they all come with the same thing in mind. Why does It bother to punish them, when the punishment usually kills them. Punishment is meant to teach something. But what can It teach if the humans It punishes are dead?

When It begins to punish a human who had not demanded anything, not even opened the door through which he came, It realises that It has become a creature of habit.

Like the humans, It had become arrogant and thought there was nothing that It had left to learn. It decides not to leave this human with a bleeding wound. Unlike humans, It, at least, can learn.

But It does still take a small something. After all, intentionally or not, the human had still come uninvited.

Then a human that It punished returns to retrieve someone that he left behind. He smiles at It, and for the first time It can remember, It is given correct payment for what is asked. It smiles back at him and thinks that perhaps humans do learn after all.

* * *

Reviews?


	23. Lies: Revelation

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

_I am cleansing fire._

He remembers this alchemist. A glow would light upon the man's armoured hands and then terrible weapons would burst forth from the ground, firing upon the defenders of Ishbal. The flash from their muzzles would flare in men's eyes, blinding them, and then shots would strike, tearing and ripping muscle and bone. All that remained of the people defending their homes was a thick, meaty paste, smoothed across the blood-spattered sand.

The sickening smell would rise into the air and he would taste bile on tongue. He has lost count of the number of times that he collapsed, desperate to void his stomach of it's contents, desperate to cleanse himself of the taste of human blood.

Light sparks and iron flows from the ground, surrounding him. He waits, listening to the alchemist walk towards him, arrogantly confident in supposed victory.

Then he strikes, and sees blood cover the ground once more.

###

_I am visiting judgement upon the guilty._

He remembers this alchemist too. Fat and greedy. Ridiculous in his blue uniform. Always sweating from the heat, thick, smelly liquid pouring down his pudgy face. So ridiculous that no one had taken him seriously at first. But that changed. On the battlefield he had proven fierce and deadly, creating knives and swords out of nothing and utterly destroying any who stood before him.

The Silver Alchemist is much the same now as he was all those years ago. Older, fatter, greedier. But still inhumanly fast. So fast that he manages to wound his opponent. But like the one known as IronBlood, his confidence in his own superiority is his downfall.

God's wrath explodes from the water and the old sinner is finally sent to face judgement.

###

_I am doing God's work._

This one is new. Too young to have been in the slaughter, but as guilty as the others all the same. Clad in red, brazenly showing the blood that is on his hands. Taking pride in his filth, the blighted, shining watch-chain hanging from his belt. A sinner before God, rejoicing in his perverse works. This one, golden-eyed like a demon, has crossed him before and escaped only by hiding behind one of the most monstrous alchemists of all, a devil in human form. The commander of flame, Hellfire Mustang.

The sinner speaks, talking of meaningless things, trying to buy time, to distract him from his duties, speaking of doctors of all things.

All of a sudden there is a girl in his way. Anger and rage and disbelief in her eyes. Sky blue eyes, such a bright shade, so familiar. Has he seen them before, these eyes? Where?

Then it floods back. Bright, sky blue eyes, looking at him with concern, and then fear. Terrible, terrible fear. He is in pain, there are screams. Brother. . . where is his brother? Brother is gone. They did it, the blue eyes, they did it, kill them, kill them, blue eyes, _destroy _them-

"Winry, stay back!"

"He killed my mom and dad!"

###

_"Little brother, stay back!"_

_"But he's killing our people!" _

_Coldness, inhuman laughter, shining sparking palms. Explosions all around him. A blood spattered smile, wide with vicious glee. The monster is-_

_The monster-_

"Give me back my mom and dad! Give them _back!_"

_The monster is . . .me?_

_I am judgement, I am cleansing fire, I am doing holy work- _

"Give. My mom. And dad. _Back to me!"_

_I am . . . a liar?_

* * *

Reviews?


	24. Family 2: Celebration

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

"Shush, Roy," Fullmetal said, and for a second the Flame Alchemist could only think '_what the?'_, because though he'd known Edward since he was eleven, there had never really been a time where it had been appropriate for Ed to address Roy by his first name.

Then his brain caught up with his eyes and he realised that Edward had in fact been speaking to the little boy in his wife's arms. His son.

Roy's brain shut down again, only one thought making itself heard as he stared at the embarrassed but proud look on Ed's face. _His name is Roy. Edward named his son after me. People name their kids after their own parents. Or after people they idolize. Or, or. . . He named his **son **after **me.**_

The shock faded, Roy's normal personality reasserted itself and Ed began to swear at him for being smug, but still, part of him focused on the brown haired little boy with golden eyes who is smiling happily at his parents, and thought_ 'You're named after me. Ed thought my name was worthy enough to be shared with you.'_

He suppressed an urge to hug Ed, because he knew that the boy- _man, he's a young man now-_ wouldn't let himself appreciate it.

Still, happiness bubbled up within him and the desire to share it couldn't be ignored.

Neither could the steaming cup of coffee on his desk. Even if he had added a pinch too much sugar.

###

"Maes!" a familiar voice declared maniacally over the phone. "Guess what?"

Hughes blinked. "Roy, is that you?"

"Yes!"

"You sound happy. . ." Hughes said carefully. _And you're calling me by my first name,_ he thought_. Something's up._

"I am! I have good news!"

"Okay, I'll be right over," Hughes agreed in his humouring-the-crazy-person tone. "Then you can tell me everything. Just, uh, stay in your office, okay?"

Hughes covered the receiver with his hand and leaned away from the phone. "Private Sheska, I have some business to attend to. You're in charge of the paperwork until I get back."

"Yes sir," Sheska saluted, looking curiously from her superior to the phone receiver in his hand. "Is everything all right?" she asked, concerned.

"Everything is fantastic!" the voice on the phone declared, apparently having heard her despite Hughes' best efforts. "I have the best name ever!"

Sheska stared. "Is that Colonel Mustang?" she whispered.

"Yes," Hughes muttered worridly. "I know that tone of voice. He's either drugged, or somebody found another puppy. Let's hope it's the latter."

* * *

Yes, Hughes is alive. Because I SAY SO! Reviews?


	25. Underwhelmed: Trials of being an Emperor

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

He'd heard it all, oh yes.

"As emperor you will save our clan!"

"When young master is Emperor, our people will be protected!"

"If you become Emperor, our people will prosper and grow."

"We will be successful, rich and safe."

Yes, he'd heard it all and accepted such expectations as his duty to his clan. But there was _one_ thing they'd never mentioned.

###

"Lanfan."

"Yes, my Emperor?"

Ling sighed. "Lanfan, we are alone. And you are wearing something very distracting. Surely we can drop the titles for a little while."

"Of course. . . my Emperor."

Ling shot an irritated look at his bodyguard/sort-of-girlfriend. "Lanfan I have just had a revelation which I would like to share with you, provided you drop that cumbersome title for five minutes."

She inclined her head. "Of course. What is it you wish to share with me?"

Somehow, Ling could still hear the unspoken 'My Emperor'. He sighed again.

"Attending the monthly assembly has given me unique insight into the political goals of the clan leaders," he announced.

Lanfan contrived to present a wholly innocent look on her face which despite being absolutely neutral and non-judgemental, expressed the words '_and your point is?_'

"Managing the heads of the clans is comparable to dealing with a class full of petulant children who had not emotionally matured beyond the age of five!"

Ling was very impressed and even more irritated when, with just the raise of an eyebrow Lanfan conveyed the sentiment: _Why is this news to you? Have you been living under a rock? _

"Lanfan!" he said indignantly.

She shrugged innocently. "Surely my Emperor was aware that there was a reason for the country's constant troubles?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't expecting it to be because the aged and revered leaders of the two largest clans are nothing but a pair of old foxes that still have a grudge over who married who's sister seventy years ago!"

Lanfan's next shrug conveyed a single, very precise concept, that in other women would have been accompanied by hands spread in helpless exasperation.

_Men._

"Right," Ling pouted. "If you're going to be like that, I'm taking a holiday to Amestris."

Lanfan smiled. "Perhaps, my Emperor, it would be better to invite the Elrics to Xing?"

"Oh?"

"Yes. You could introduce Edward to Elders Sung and Tang."

Ling thought about this. Then he thought some more.

The horrified look on his face slowly morphed into an evil grin.

"Lanfan, you have the most splendid ideas! That is why I love you!"

"My Emperor is too kind."

"Stop that."

"As my Emperor wishes."

"Now you're just being mean."

* * *

Reviews?


	26. Umbrella: First Meeting

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

It is raining the first time Alfons meets him. He is sitting on the steps of the boarding house in which Alfons has a room, his head down, with his long blond hair plastered against his face. Water is dripping off of his hair, his face and his long brown coat. Alfons is sure that he must be soaked through.

Before he has even thought it through, Alfons holds out his umbrella, shielding the stranger from the rain. "Who are you?" he asks. "What are you doing on my doorstep?"

The stranger lifts his head to look up at Alfons, and the German boy is struck dumb at the sight.

The blond man's face is as wet as the rest off him, water dripping from his chin. It is lean, edging into thin, and Alfons suspects that the stranger has not been eating properly. Still, it is a handsome face that has probably been the desire of more than a few young women.

But it the stranger's eyes which captivate Alfons. The soaking wet stranger has the most unusual eyes he has ever seen. They are beautiful, bright yellow, almost gold. Alfons did not think that people _could _have yellow eyes.

The golden-eyed man stares up at him as though he has seen a ghost. "Al. . ." he croaks, before slumping to the ground.

Alfons blinks in surprise and then shakes off his shock, hurrying to help the man up off the ground. "Hey, hey," he says desperately, as he tries to shake the man awake. "Are you okay? Wake up!"

Luckily for him, Officer Hughes is visiting Alfons' landlady, Fraulein Gracia. Between them, they are easily able to lift the unconscious young man upstairs to the spare bed.

"Who are you?" Alfons asks the sleeping stranger once Officer Hughes and Gracia have gone. "How did you know my name?"

"Al. . ." the yellow eyed man whispers in his sleep, a tear slipping down his face. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," someone replies, and it takes a moment for Alfons to realise that it was him.

The stranger smiles in his sleep.

* * *

Reviews?


	27. Handcuffs: Chained Heat

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

This _sucks_," the Fullmetal Alchemist declared as he trudged through the sand of the Eastern Desert. Beside him, his commanding officer rolled his eyes and tried not to sigh in exasperation.

"So you've said," Mustang paused and did a mental count, "thirteen times. In the last hour. Quit whining."

"Whining? _Whining?_ Colonel, we are handcuffed together, in the middle of the freaking desert, and those bastards took my arm! And your gloves," the boy added as an afterthought.

"Your grasp of the obvious is positively dazzling, Fullmetal. Now quit whining. We haven't lost anything that can't be replaced easily enough."

"Easy for you to say," Ed grumbled, kicking at the sand moodily. "Winry's going to kill me when she hears that I let someone take my arm. I'll be ducking flying wrenches for months. She's gonna try and knock my brains out!"

"You know, Fullmetal, you may not want to go around loudly declaring that your mechanic attacks you with a wrench. It could give people the wrong idea," Mustang said delicately.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Edward," he sighed, "it always amazes me that you can display such utter brilliance when dealing with alchemy, and yet still be completely clueless when it comes to social niceties."

"What. Are you. Talking about?" Ed growled, ignoring the backhanded compliment.

"Has it occurred to you, that if people overhear Ms. Rockbell's best customer complaining about the possibility of grievous bodily harm, that they might decide to take their business elsewhere?"

Ed stared, mouth open for a moment, and then stammered "but- but that's crap! It's not like I'm _serious_. Winry knows that. It's just a joke. Anyone who knows Winry knows that! She wouldn't hurt anyone. Her customers wouldn't believe it. They aren't idiots!"

"Nevertheless, word of mouth has a way of travelling and potential customers who are not well acquainted with your mechanic may be inclined to believe rumours. Gossip is human nature after all."

"That's crap," Ed repeated stubbornly. "Only paranoid bastards like you would believe something like that."

"If you say so," Mustang shrugged, causing the handcuffs to pull at Ed's remaining wrist. "It's just a thought."

"Oh just- just shove it," Ed snapped, though he privately decided that maybe he'd cut back a bit on the exaggerating from now on, since just maybe, possibly, just by some sort of cosmic fluke, Mustang might have a point.

###

They continued on in temporary silence, still heading for the distant blot on the horizon that was probably Liore, the last town in east Amestris before the land dissolved into the sandy mass of the Great Eastern Desert. As the day heated up and Ed's automail leg started to get uncomfortably warm, he began to mentally curse the unknown assailants who were the cause of his and Mustang's current predicament.

A few weeks earlier, Mustang had been temporarily reassigned to Liore to assist with the stabilisation after the end of a brief and destructive rebellion. Ed had been ordered to accompany him so that he could assist with the reconstruction of several ruined buildings, the military brass hoping that the news of the People's Alchemist helping to rebuild the shattered town would go some way towards restoring the locals' faith in the military.

For a while, it had seemed to work. There had been less unrest in the streets and people had gathered to watch Ed clap his hands and turn rubble back into houses and shops. They'd applauded enthusiastically, despite the fact that the buildings now bore the signs of the Fullmetal Alchemist's idiosyncratic sense of style. A few onlookers had even approved of the addition of gargoyle faces to the architecture.

Then, yesterday evening, the Colonel, having gotten sick of waiting for Ed to report back to the temporary headquarters on time, had gone in search of the boy himself. He'd found Ed knee deep in sand, looking thoughtfully at a ruined cellar situated at the side of a busy street and begun to lecture him on the virtues of punctuality.

The sudden attack had caught both Ed and Mustang by surprise. Someone had thrown a rock, blood had spattered on the sandy street and within seconds there was an all-out riot. But the alchemists had not been accidental victims of circumstance. No, they had both been surprised been from behind with a cloth soaked in chloroform even as they attempted to stop the fighting.

They'd awoken to find themselves somewhere in the desert, handcuffed together, with both their well known methods of alchemy disabled. Mustang's gloves had lain in shreds at his feet and Ed's automail arm was nowhere to be seen. As a final mockery, two water canteens had been strewn next to them, their contents emptied onto the sand and evaporating fast.

Liore had been a tiny blot on the horizon, perhaps reachable by people who were well supplied. But given their lack of anything even resembling said supplies, it was obvious that whoever had abducted them had clearly intended the desert weather to cause death by exposure first.

_And if we do die, _Ed though miserably as they trudged onwards, _these damn handcuffs mean that we're gonna end up in the same coffin! I'm gonna spend the rest of eternity less than a foot from Mustang! No, wait, Al. Al would definitely transmute us free before burying me. Unless he's mad at me I guess. Of course, he's not gonna be too happy at me getting myself killed before I managed to restore his real body. Augh! No, little brother! Don't leave me attached to this bastard!_

Ed groaned. More than anything, more than water, more than food, he wanted his arm. With it, he could at least prevent a possible eternity stuck next to the person he hated, if not transmute water from the moisture in the air. _Hell, not even my arm. Just a solid piece of ground to sketch a stable circle on! Please?_

But unfortunately, simply drawing a circle to transmute himself free from Mustang was out of the question for the moment. The desert wind had repeatedly blown the roughly sketched circles apart before Ed had even finished them and the two circles which Ed _had_ managed to complete had been blown awry just as he was activating them.

The first rebound had deprived Ed of his eyebrows. He had not been too discouraged by this, but after the second rebound had explosively thrown both of them backwards and Ed's metal knee had somehow ended up hitting his superior squarely in the groin, Mustang had forbidden any further attempts at alchemy.

Two hours ago, Ed had thought that the memory of the Colonel's shocked expression and the pained little-girl squeal which had emerged from his mouth was worth halting any further attempts to separate them. Now though, with the sun heading towards the highest point of the horizon, and heat edging towards just this side of unbearable, he was tempted to knock the older alchemist out and try again anyway.

###

Abruptly, Mustang raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead and the handcuff pulled against Ed's wrist again, dragging his arm up and scraping sharply across painfully dry skin and dragging him out of his thoughts. Ed winced and glared at Mustang. "Hey, watch it! That hurt, you jerk."

"I do apologise," Mustang said, and Ed couldn't tell whether he was sincere, sarcastic, or both. "Though," the older man added, "it's hardly my fault that our arms aren't on the same level."

"Are you calling me short?" Ed raged. "We're going to die of thirst and starvation out here and you're _still_ calling me a micro-sized pipsqueak, you bastard?"

"I said nothing of the sort. But you do raise a good point. Given our current circumstances, it's vital that we reserve as much energy as possible. I suggest you stop needlessly wasting your energy ranting about something I didn't even say."

Ed's mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to come up with a rebuttal to this, but his heat-dazed brain failed him. He was forced to resort to snorting disparagingly and kicking sand in Mustang's general direction.

"Jerk," he snapped finally. "Since you _are_ so freakishly big, how come you're not anywhere near as sweaty as I am?"

The colonel smiled and leaned down. "Perhaps I'm just more used to the heat?" he murmured in Ed's ear, his voice somehow seeming much deeper than normal.

"Or maybe it's finally baked your brain, you creepy bastard," Ed spat, blushing in embarrassment as he shivered and jerked away, and glaring resentfully at the sand. _Stupid bastard. What's he going and doing creepy things like that for? _he thought. "_No one who's in a situation like this should have the right to look that good"._

"This is true," Mustang said. "Still, I just have to accept the blessings that nature has bestowed upon me. You on the other hand. . ." he trailed off, looking at Ed and humming in consideration, "you would be more suited to colder weather. You would certainly stand out rather nicely when surrounded by snow."

Ed stared up at his commanding officer in frozen shock, his blush returning in full force as he realised that he'd been so miserable and preoccupied with the unbearable heat that he'd accidentally said his last sentence out loud.

"_I give up!"_ he howled internally. "_Just kill me already_!"

"Well, I'm tempted," Mustang agreed, and Ed realised with horror that he'd muttered his words aloud again. "The lack of incessant complaining would be nice. But dragging your corpse all the way to Liore just to have Alphonse murder me is rather a downside."

Ed groaned.

* * *

Reviews?


	28. Death: AfterImages

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

To Maes Hughes' distant confusion, instead of everything going dark as he slumped to the ground, the world around him just seemed to grow cold and still. Before his eyes, the world faded into brightness as his blood spilled out onto the street. He blinked and shut his eyes against it.

When he opened them again, he found himself standing on a plane of absolute whiteness, before a huge (and he thought, rather ominous looking) door. It was opening slowly, soft golden light spilling through the crack. Standing beside the huge door was a beautiful woman with brown hair. She was dressed simply, in a plain dress and apron.

Hughes looked from the woman to the glowing door. "Um hello?" he said hesitantly. "Is this the afterlife?"

"Something like that," the brown-haired woman replied softly. She indicated the gate behind her. "Most people pass through," she said. "Sometimes they stay here awhile if they've got something they need to see, but there hasn't been anyone like that for years."

"Huh. What exactly do you mean by 'something they need to see?"

The woman made an odd gesture with her hand and the air opposite rippled and pulsed, turning into an odd shining curtain. Images seemed to appear on it, but they were too faint to properly make out. Just for an instant, Hughes caught sight of a flash of red and gold.

"If you concentrate," the woman told him, "sometimes you can see what happens after your death, or where your loved ones are. Sometimes I use it to pass the time while I wait."

"So, what exactly are you waiting for?" Maes asked curiously.

"My husband," she replied. "I promised that I would wait for him to come back, but I died while he was gone. So I'm waiting for him here instead."

"Oh. . ." Maes swallowed awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. You don't have to apologise to me," the woman said. "What will you do? Leave through the gate? Or remain here?"

"I'll wait here," he said firmly. "I'm going to watch over my little girl if it kills me. Er, metaphorically speaking," he added sheepishly.

The woman looked sad. "It might, you know."

Maes blinked. "What do you mean?"

The woman smiled sadly. "When I said we can watch over our loved ones, I meant it. All we can _do_ is watch. If they're hurt or in pain, there's nothing we can do to help them. Just watching as the people you love suffer is very difficult. I used to watch my sons all the time. But sometimes things are so bad now, I just can't bear. . ." She trailed off.

Maes grimaced. "I see what you mean. I'm still staying here though. I need to know that my wife and daughter are all right. I need to know if my best friend is okay."

"I understand," the woman said, laughing gently. "Where would Maes Hughes be without his Gracia and Elysia, eh?"

"Yes. So . ." he asked with a grin, "when do I get omniscience?"

The woman smiled. "Being dead doesn't mean that you suddenly know everything, I'm afraid. I only know who you are, Maes Hughes, because I was watching when you introduced yourself to my sons."

"Your sons?" Hughes frowned. "I know them?"

She nodded sadly. "Very well. I wouldn't expect you to recognise me, though. After all, Edward looks just like his father, and no one has been able to see my poor Alphonse's face in years."

Maes stared. "_You're_ Ed and Al's mother!" he breathed. "The one the tried to. . .um," he trailed off, coughing awkwardly.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm Trisha Elric. And I have a question for you, Maes Hughes. Will you answer it?"

"Of course," he promised immediately.

Trisha waved her hand again and another image appeared. Hughes saw his best friend standing in his office, quite clearly having a blazing row with his youngest subordinate.

Trisha pointed towards Roy. "Right," she said, "you tell me, Maes Hughes. Can I trust this man not to sacrifice my sons for his own goals."

"Yes," Maes said at once. He smiled. "That idiot would let himself be shot if he thought it would protect his men."

"I am not asking about his men," Trisha said sharply. "I am asking about my sons."

Maes looked at her. "To Roy," he replied, "your sons _are_ his men. He won't let anything happen to them if he can possibly prevent it. Like I said, he'd rather be shot."

"That . . . does not sound like a wise disposition for a man who wants to be Fuhrer."

Maes shrugged and leaned back against the side of the Gate. "No. But it's perfectly in character for an idealistic fool who sees his subordinates as his family."

Trisha smiled and shook her head. "Thank you. That is reassuring to know."

"You're welcome," Hughes said. "So," he continued, gesturing to the rippling curtain of whiteness, "how do I get this thing to show me Gracia and Elysia?"

* * *

Reviews?


	29. Fly: Leaving the Nest

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

It's one year after his restoration that Al announces his intention to search for his missing brother.

"Brother _is_ still alive," Al insists to Winry and Pinako. "He's out there. I just need to find him."

They argue for days, but Al will not be persuaded otherwise. He doesn't care that there's been a funeral or that Ed has not been seen for a year.

Finally, Winry insists that eleven years old is too young to wander around the country on his own.

"Ed did it," Al points out.

Winry's eyes shine with suppressed tears. "Ed wasn't alone," she says softly. "You would be."

"Then come with me," Al suggests.

"No," Pinako says firmly. "Winry has her own life, Al. It's high time she took that apprenticeship in Rush Valley."

Al feels like screaming in frustration. Pinako does not believe that Ed is alive, and so in her mind there is no need for him to go anywhere. But Al _knows_ his brother is out there somewhere.

Al forces himself to be calm and look Pinako in the eye. It is her that he has to convince if he's ever going to get out of Resembool

"I'm still going to look for Brother," he says quietly. "Today."

She holds his gaze for a long moment and then sighs. "Alright. Where will you start?"

"Central," Al replies. "There's someone there who believes me."

"Well, he's an Elric," Pinako sighs later, watching him walk down the road. "Should've known he'd fly young."

* * *

Reviews?


	30. Needle: New Guy

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

There was a loud shriek, followed by an explosion, and a large cloud of dust rose above the buildings of the Eastern HQ of the Amestrian Military.

Sergeant Jones, newly arrived from Central, hastily dodged out of the way as a smouldering red and gold blur dashed past him, followed closely by a dust covered officer wearing gloves with bright red alchemic circles on them. The officer was followed by a blond lieutenant from whom Jones caught the whiff of cigarette smoke, and a grey-haired warrant officer.

"What the hell's going on?" Jones asked his new partner, Lt. Frieg. "Should we sound an alert? Who _was_ that?"

"Oh that," Frieg said, waving dismissively, "that's nothing. Just Colonel Mustang and his men trying to get the Fullmetal Alchemist to take the annual flu shot. Kid hates needles." Frieg squinted. "Looks like it's going to be good. C'mon newbie, let's go get a good view."

In the distance there was another boom, followed by a roar of fury. Another cloud of dust rose into the air.

"Ooh," Frieg said interestedly once they'd found a convenient spot to safely watch the proceedings, which had now moved to the parade ground. "Looks like the kid has some new tricks this year. Last time, the Colonel cut him off before he even got this far."

"This is really a regular occurrence?" Jones asked, a little stunned by the blasé attitude Frieg was displaying.

Frieg nodded. "Yep. Elric goes a little nuts just before flu season every year." He paused. "Hmm. . . interesting. . ."

"What?"

Frieg narrowed his eyes. "I don't see Lieutenant Hawkeye with the Colonel. Just Havoc and Falman. Breda and that kid Furey don't seem to be around either."

"So?" Jones asked. "Who are they anyway?"

"The rest of Colonel Mustang's staff," Frieg answered, ducking quickly to avoid an errant stone fist as it flew past his head. "I'd've thought they be here. Must be up to something. Usually, you couldn't pry Hawkeye away from him without a crowbar."

"And that matters why?" Jones quavered, covering his head protectively when another explosion sounded, followed by a cackle of triumph. "The hell is that kid anyway? Some kind of demon?"

"Mmm, no, we're pretty sure he's human," Frieg answered. "Though there are some weird rumours about his little brother. Speaking of him, I wonder where _he _is. He's usually helping to catch Elric 'round about now. Oh. There he is."

Jones gaped as a giant of a man wearing armour began to assist the dust-covered Colonel in his pursuit of the blond boy. "That's his _little _brother?" he squeaked.

"Yep. Like I said, weird. By the way, here's a tip: don't call Elric short if you want to keep your head. Kid has a hair-trigger temper."

Jones yelped as another stone fist flew overhead, accompanied by a yell of "I TOLD YOU, BASTARD COLONEL, NO NEEDLES!"

Frieg rolled his eyes. "Newbie, relax. You look like you're gonna pass out."

"They said my next posting would be quiet," Jones whimpered. "Is it always like this around here?"

"Only when Fullmetal and Flame start arguing," Frieg said reassuringly.

"Oh," Jones said, a little relieved.

"Which they generally do after spending about five minutes in the same room," Frieg added. "Welcome to Eastern Command, newbie."

* * *

Reviews?


	31. Billow: Fashion Advice

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

"I don't know. . ." Riza said slowly, as she considered the garment that Rebecca was holding against her enthusiastically.

"Oh come on," said Rebecca, "It's perfect. You'll look great!"

Riza hmm'd, frowning.

"Well, what's wrong with it then?" her friend asked.

Riza hmm'd again, and Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "Are you changing your mind about the whole thing?"

"What? No," Riza said firmly. "It's just, well, look at it."

Rebecca looked at 'it'. Finding no fault, she looked back at Riza. "Yes, so. . ." she said, drawing the words out.

"It doesn't have any pockets."

Rebecca blinked. "Pockets," she said. "You're rejecting it based on a lack of pockets."

"Well, where am I supposed to put my gun? A holster won't fit anywhere around it, and I can't bring a handbag."

"You know, most women only carry cash and make-up in their-" Rebecca shook her head. "Never mind. Not the point. You won't be bringing your gun _or_ a handbag. Anything else you don't like about it?"

Riza regarded the garment in question with a sniper's critical eye. "It's far too tight around the legs. I wouldn't be able to run in it, and it's so attention-grabbing. What if someone attacked? I'd be a giant, slow-moving target. And I am bringing my gun," she added defiantly. "Someone has to watch the General's back."

"No one's going to be shooting at you," Rebecca snapped. "You are _not _bringing your gun." She gave Riza a hard look and the blonde lieutenant caved a little.

"Alright," she admitted, "the truth is. . ."

"Yes?" Rebecca said impatiently. "What?"

"It's the whole thing," Riza said awkwardly. "It's too, too, poofy. I mean, look at it! Those shoulders. And that train. And those pink bits! I don't even know what they're for! I can't wear something like this."

Rebecca's mouth twitched into a smile, though her endeavour to conceal her long-suffering and aggravation was spoiled slightly by her gritted teeth. "Riza," she said in a worryingly polite voice, "it's not _poofy. _It billows _dramatically_ and _romantically_."

"Exactly. It's hardly practical."

Rebecca finally lost her cool. "It's not _supposed _to be practical! It's not supposed to be designed for carrying a gun, or for running for your life, or covering Mustang's back while he does his snappy-fire thing. It's supposed to draw attention to you. It's your _wedding dress!"_

"Roy is getting married in uniform," Riza said blandly, ignoring Rebecca's red-faced outburst. "I should do the same. For equality," she added virtuously.

"What, you'll wear the dress if he does?"

"Maybe."

At this, Rebecca fixed her friend with a suspicious glare. "You've just been winding me up this whole time, haven't you?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," Riza admitted calmly. "But I was serious about hating the pink bits. And the poofy shoulders have got to go."

* * *

Reviews?


	32. Broken Heart: Book

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Sciezka had always liked books. As a child, she really hadn't been the most athletic tomboy, or the traditional pink-dresses-and-dolls girly-girl. As such, she really hadn't fit in with any of the other children in her class. Inevitably, there had been teasing, which had morphed into bullying. Sciezka was unsure if it was true of everyone's school-day memories, but from her experience, most ten-year-olds had had a lot in common with sociopaths.

Knowing and understanding the meaning behind words such as sociopaths hadn't helped her cause much either.

Her memory, which extended to remembering everything she'd ever read, while very helpful in attaining top marks in class, had also marked her as unusual. An oddity. A freak. Nobody ever spoke to her except to make her cry, and so Sciezka had withdrawn from her peers into a safer place.

Books had been a safe haven. Fantastic, wonderful stories that once read, Sciezka could remember perfectly and enjoy as many times as she wanted. They had not ignored her, or taunted her with cruel words. They were always with her, a comforting knowledge in her mind.

When she had found a job in Central Library, Sciezka had almost cried with happiness. To spend day after day surrounded by books and barely ever having to deal with people had sounded like paradise.

On the day that she lost the job, for spending too much time reading of all things, another part of Sciezka's already battered heart broke.

* * *

Reviews?


	33. Papa Ed : Lies To Children

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

"Daddy?"

Hohenheim looked down at his eldest son. "Yes Edward?"

"Daddy, where do babies come from?" the four-year-old asked curiously.

The oldest man in the world, last survivor of Xerxes and the man known in Xing as the Great Sage of the West considered his son's question carefully and then answered thusly:

"Cabbage patches."

Ed cocked his head to the side and regarded his father dubiously. "Really?"

"Yes," Hohenheim said firmly, looking around surreptitiously for his wife, who seemed to have magically vanished from the room, once again abandoning him to the terrible fate of Ed's Inquisitive Mood.

"Did you find Al is a cabbage patch?"

"Er. . .well. . . not exactly," Hohenheim stuttered, stalling for time. Where was Trisha, he wondered. She was much better at handling things like this.

" 'cos Al smells like turnips, not cabbages," Ed added.

Hohenheim blinked. "What?"

"Turnips," Ed repeated. "Why does Al smell like turnips?"

His father thought about this for a moment before selecting another suitable answer.

"So how about I make you a swing?"

"Was Al in the wrong patch?" Ed asked, refusing to be distracted. "Did he get lost? Were there other babies?"

"How about two swings?" Hohenheim said desperately. "And a tree-house!"

###

_20 years later._

"Daddy?"

"Yeah kid?"

"How does the sun work?"

Ed hummed and cast a quick glance at said sun which was even now high in the sky and shining brightly down on his back garden. "Well, we're not really sure, seeing as there's no way to get a real close look, but Professor James Keefe of Central University theorised that it is a consistently burning mass of hydrogen, which provides light and heat to our planet and is a key factor in why life evolved here."

"Oh," four-year-old Hugh said. "Okay." He nodded to himself and wandered back over to his little sister who was industriously rolling a ball in a circle. "Hey Trisha," he yelled. "I want a go!"

"A flaming mass of hydrogen?" a voice behind Ed said, just after he'd leaned back and shut his eyes. "Really, Fullmetal?"

"Yep," Ed answered, not bothering to look round. "Hello Fuhrer Jerk, what are you doing here?"

"Visiting," Roy answered innocently. "I can't check up on old friends?"

"_You _can't," Ed muttered. "I've told you before Mustang, I'm not taking that ambassadorial post. Find someone else."

Roy ignored this. "So," he asked, "do you always give complex scientific answers to questions posed by a four-year-old? You know he probably didn't understand most of it."

Ed shrugged. "So? Why not tell him the truth? Kid wanted to know. He's smart enough to understand most of it and whatever he doesn't understand now, he'll learn about later. I always hated grown-ups giving me ridiculous answers when I was a kid. It was obvious they were lying, and that really pissed me off."

"So you'll always give an exact explanation, huh?" Roy said.

"Yep," Ed replied, getting to his feet. "Always. Hey, keep an eye on the kid, will you? I gotta use the can."

"Of course," Roy agreed. He watched Ed make his way into the house and then turned to little Hugh. "Hey kiddo, c'mere. I know a really good question to ask your Dad."

Hugh beamed and ran over to his favourite adopted uncle. "Really?"

"Oh, you bet."

###

_Half an hour later._

"Daddy, how are babies made?"

Ed's jaw dropped in shock, but years of experience in answering questions straight out and truthfully rushed to his aid. He didn't hesitate.

"Cabbage patches."

* * *

Reviews?


	34. Tear : Smile

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest

* * *

For the sake of her children, Trisha did not cry when her husband walked out the door. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to her sons with a smile on her face.

When she glanced at the calendar one day and realised that Hohenheim had been gone for half a year, Trisha did not cry. Instead, she smiled and decided to do a little baking to pass the time.

A week afterwards, Ed and Al came home from school with a note from the teacher asking her not to give them anymore scones to bring to lunch. The school was small after all, the note said, and the scones they hadn't been able to eat were beginning to go stale.

Trisha did not cry the day she found Al using the family photograph as a reference for his father's face because he could not properly remember what Hohenheim looked like. Instead, she hung his crayon drawing on the kitchen wall and announced that she was taking him and his brother fishing.

Ed complained incessantly about having to eat fish for a week.

Half a year after that, when Pinako glanced at the date and innocently remarked: "Well, look at that, it's been a whole year since he left. Back any day now, I suppose," Trisha did not cry.

It was months later, when she became sick, and realised that she wouldn't be able to keep her promise to her husband, that a tear finally slipped down Trisha's face.

* * *

Reviews?


	35. Vato Falman: Not the Hero

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest. Won first place!

* * *

Vato Falman knows he is not the hero in this story. He is not like the Colonel, with his fire and charisma, or like the Elric brothers, with their youthful idealism and noble goals.

(He has always wondered if the Colonel knows just how alike he and Edward truly are. Falman suspects that part of the Colonel does and that is why he delights in tormenting the boy so. No one likes to be reminded of what they were like when they were a teenager, after all.)

Vato Falman is not the daring sidekick in this story. He is not like the courageous Miss Rockbell, ready to march into battle armed only with a wrench, or like Greed/Ling/whatever he wants to call himself, who is fighting against himself to do the right thing. Falman is just an aging soldier who had only received a promotion so that a monster could manipulate the leader that he had put his faith in.

(Not that you could really call reassignment to Briggs a promotion, even if the job did come with a second lieutenant's stripes, since it also came with the job of glorified icicle-clearer. Not that Falman would ever, ever complain about that to anyone who might repeat it in the Major General's hearing. He wasn't suicidal. Usually.)

Vato Falman knows he is not even close to being an important extra. He is just a man who appreciates rules and regulations, a man for whom a well written stack of reports is a thing of a beauty, a man who collects train schedules and plays draughts in his spare time.

(Barry the Chopper had scoffed and insisted on playing chess. Falman had lost every game.)

Vato Falman knows that he is no hero. The monster in front of him has just taken out a tank and Captain Buccaneer with nothing more than swords. If Falman is to pull the trigger, he might as well point the gun at his own head, because that would certainly be more effective than aiming it at the Fuhrer.

The monster smiles slightly, it's tattooed eye locking gazes with him. It can tell what he's thinking, Falman is sure.

"Stand aside, 2nd Lieutenant Falman," Fuhrer King Bradley orders calmly.

Falman looks at the monster, at the deadly calm deranged gaze and knows that if he doesn't follow the order, the chances of him getting out of this alive are slim to none. After all, he is not the hero.

"Falman," the Fuhrer says again, "stand aside."

The only thing he can accomplish here, Falman realises, is to slow the creature down for a few seconds to give the Colonel and the Elric brothers a little more time to defeat the bigger monster that birthed the one in front of him.

The Fuhrer is still walking calmly towards him, sword held comfortably in his hand, blood dripping down his face, and not one crack in the faint smile that never leaves his face.

"2nd Lieutenant Falman," he says for the third time. "Stand aside."

Vato Falman is not the hero. He is just a man who knows right from wrong. So he swallows what he is sure is one of his last breaths and takes careful aim.

"No."

* * *

Reviews?


	36. So crazy it might just work: Outta Here

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest. Won third place.

* * *

"So," Greed said to the old man who had just created him. "Who are you?"

The first homunculus smiled. "I am your Father. You are my Greed." He gestured to the other figures who were surrounding them in a spread out circle. "These are your brothers and sister."

"Ookay. . ." Greed said dubiously, looking around at his assembled family members, who seemed to be a bit on the bizarre side. Apparently he was the only one the old man had seen fit to gift with a sense of style. Although, Greed mused briefly, the woman that his brain was instinctively identifying as Lust seemed to have some potential.

He turned his attention back to the old man, who was still smiling benignly at him. "So I'm assuming you had a purpose in creating me? Are you going to tell me what it is, or are we gonna play guessing games?"

"Of course my son," Father smiled. He began to explain and as he continued Greed's expression became more and more fixed.

"That's it," Father said as he finished and looked at his son's frozen face. "I believe this is the part where you say 'That's so crazy it just might work', correct?"

Greed thought about this. "No Pops," he decided. "I think this is the part where I say 'Screw you guys, I'm outta here."

Father blinked.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Greed said slowly and clearly. "I'm outta here. This plan of yours is never gonna work. I mean, come on, what are the chances that you'll find five alchemists who visited the Gate and survived at just the right time for your solar eclipse? How many are there alive today? One? Two?"

"I've already got one," Father pointed out. "Hohenheim survived. Also, he is immortal, so we don't have to worry about him dying. And humans are persistent. There'll be more. I'm sure of it."

"In time for your solar eclipse, though?" Greed retorted. "You can't exactly schedule them. If no one attempts human transmutation in the next, ooh, hundred years, you're screwed."

"They will," Father insisted. "My plan _will_ succeed!"

"And your plan is to do what, again? Make a stone that will give you a younger body so that you can swallow Truth? Right. Like that's gonna work." Greed looked around at his siblings, who were gaping at him in various stages of disbelief. "By the way, is it just me, or do any of you think Pops here is way too obsessed with this Hohenheim guy?" He turned back to Father. "Seriously, do you have a crush on him or something? For crying out loud Pops, you admitted to _copying his face. _That's stalker behaviour right there."

There was absolute silence for a moment.

Then: "I do not have a crush on that human!" Father snapped furiously. "I-"

"Right," Greed repeated sceptically, interrupting him. "I am _so_ outta here."

###

"You know," Pride pointed out after Greed had left, slamming the door behind him. "He did sort of have a point about the sacrifices, Father."

"Hmph," Father grunted sourly. "I suppose a scheme to seek out talented alchemists might be in order. Perhaps some sort of military program. We can flesh out the details once we have a Wrath."

* * *

Reviews?


	37. Pumpkin: Try It

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

Edward Elric, usually a man who rarely refused any food (unless it contained too much of a certain foul white substance), looked dubiously at the dish being prepared on his girlfriend's kitchen table.

"Well?" Winry asked, noticing his sidelong glance. "What do you think?"

Ed gave the food another cautious look. "Very . . . orange," he said diplomatically.

Winry narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean."

"Nothing. Just . . . it's supposed to be that orange?"

"Yes!" Winry snapped back, beginning to get irritated with Ed's doubt in her culinary abilities. "Pumpkins are supposed to be orange. Like carrots."

Ed made a face which suggested he did not agree with Winry's assessment.

"Oh come on," she protested. "You eat everything. Just try it. You'll like it."

Ed shrugged and started to reach towards the food, when Winry promptly slapped his hand away. "Not _yet_. When it's finished."

That, Ed thought as Winry turned and headed towards the fridge, was just mean. First she told him to give it a try, and when he did, she slapped him. Fine, he decided as his stomach rumbled. She wanted him to give it a chance? He would.

Making sure that Winry's view of him was still obscured by the fridge door, Ed picked up the smallest part of the pumpkin he could see and tossed into his mouth.

Two seconds later he was spitting and coughing frantically.

"You idiot," Winry groaned in exasperation. "You're not supposed to eat the _seeds._"

* * *

Reviews?


	38. Snow: Daily Walk

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

The small pile of snow slipped off the branch and, quite implausibly, managed to slip directly between the collar of Roy's coat and the bare skin of his neck. He let out a surprised "Ahh!" and shuddered uncomfortably as freezing cold wetness seeped down his back and soaked into his shirt.

"I hate snow," he muttered. "Blasted unnecessary cold pestilence. Clear proof that there's no God. An intelligent being would not have designed a world that contained snow."

A bark interrupted his muttering and reminded Roy of exactly why he was out in East City's biggest park in the middle of freezing cold weather in the first place. He sighed and glanced down at Black Hayate, who was pulling and straining excitedly on his lead.

"You know," he said conversationally to the dog, "when I asked Hawkeye if she needed anything while recovering from having her appendix out, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

###

_"Is there anything I can do, lieutenant?" he had asked solicitously as he visited her in her hospital bed after the operation._

_He would of course stay by her bedside, he would bring her tea, coffee, hot chocolate, whatever she desired. He would-_

_"I need someone to take Black Hayate for his daily walk."_

_Outside? In this weather? There was four inches of snow everywhere! She was kidding, she had to be kidding._

_"He gets quite unruly if he doesn't get his daily walk," she said calmly._

_He gave up with a sigh. "Of course, lieutenant," he promised. "I'd be glad to."_

_###_

Another pile of snow dropped from the branches above, directly onto Roy's head. He yelped and danced sideways, trying to stay on the path, but get out of range of the trees. Once he'd regained his balance and was safely beneath the open sky, he noticed Black Hayate's head tilted quizzically.

He smiled at the dog and knelt down to scratch his ears. "Because she's worth it, boy," he answered in response to the dog's unspoken question. She's more than worth it."

* * *

Reviews?


	39. Ideal: A Good Man

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Riza respects this man. She has sworn to follow him and dedicated her life to supporting him because she thinks the goals he wants to achieve are worth it. Sometimes she even thinks that she might be in love with him.

_No, that's a lie. You know you're in love with him, so much and so intensely that it **hurts** that you can't tell him. Sometimes you hate his idealism that you usually cherish so much, because it means that you can never be together. Some things are more important than love._

Riza knows that he respects her, that he values her advice, friendship and support. She also knows that he values the advice, friendship and support of all his other subordinates. But she has known him the longest, has seen him through the fire, blood and terror that was the Ishvalan war.

_He values you more. You know he does. You've seen what looks he gives you when he thinks no one else is paying attention. He feels something **more **for you. He must. You know it's not all in your head._

Riza knows that Roy Mustang is a man in a million. He is brilliant and dedicated, (mostly) honest and kind. A genuinely good ma-

". . . all female officers will be required to wear **TINY MINISKIRTS!**"

__

_But sometimes you just feel like bludgeoning him unconscious with the nearest pile of paperwork. . ._

As Havoc gushes, she opts to sigh and hold her forehead instead.

* * *

Reviews?


	40. Games: Statistical Probability

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

"There's your stupid drink. Happy now?"

Roy groaned under his breath and leaned back into his pile of pillows. It should, he decided, be noted down somewhere that he officially had the worst luck in the world.

Having chivalrously agreed to walk his aide's dog while she was recovering from surgery, he had slipped on some ice in East City park and broken his leg, badly enough to necessitate some time in hospital himself. Hawkeye, now out of the hospital and back on duty, had come to visit him exactly once. This, Roy was taking (quietly- he was not suicidal) as a personal insult.

When Hawkeye had been laid up in a hospital bed, he had rushed immediately to her side in order to comfort her. He'd even agreed to walk her dog every day for a week in six inches of snow. Such was his dedication to his lieutenant that he'd gone out in dangerously icy conditions when every other sane person was at home by the fire. And now that he was here, stuck in a chilly hospital bed with his leg held in the air by some sort of complicated sling, was his dedicated lieutenant by his side?

No. she'd visited one time and proceeded to load his bedside cupboard with _paperwork._

In fact the only one to come visit him on a regular basis was Fullmetal of all people. And there was a puzzler, now he came to think of it. What had happened to 'Fuck off and die' or 'do us all a favour and jump off a cliff' or even the suitably accurate for this occasion 'Go break a leg'? Of cause for even more confusion was the fact that Fullmetal was refusing to leave. Roy wasn't sure why yet, but Ed was coming up with every excuse possible to stay.

Roy had suggested he visit Central Library to do research. Ed had insisted that it was closed due to the snow.

Roy had pointed out that he was touched by the visit but that Ed should feel free to go back to his hotel room where Al was waiting. Ed had claimed that Al was busy and that the hospital was warmer than his hotel room.

Roy had narrowed his eyes at the incredibly blatant lie. Ed had glared back at him defiantly.

Roy had ordered Ed to get him a drink in the smuggest, most Ed-provoking tone of voice he had. Ed had_ gotten him his drink._

Finally, Roy decided to throw caution to the winds and go for the direct approach. "Fullmetal, I order you to leave."

"No."

"That was a direct order, Major Elric."

"I can't!" Ed snapped back. Roy stared at him mild bemusement as his hot headed young subordinate's cheeks coloured. Then, just as he was about to favour the boy with a sarcastic remark, Ed coughed in embarrassment and mumbled "Lieutenant Hawkeye said she'd shoot me if I did."

Roy's witty remark died in his throat. ". . . oh."

"Yeah. So, sorry Colonel Jackass, but I'm stuck here as much as you are."

"Oh," Roy said again, his brain still a little blind-sided by the revelation. "She really said that?"

"Yep," Ed confirmed dully, flopping into the chair next to Roy's bed. "Don't s'pose you have any idea about what to do for the next five hours?"

Roy considered this.

_Hmm. A way to spend five hours with Fullmetal and prevent either of us going insane. . ._

He cleared his throat. "Have you ever played chess, Fullmetal?"

The boy shrugged. "Heard of it when I was a kid. Never actually got 'round to learning it though."

"No?"

Ed scratched distractedly at his right arm and took a sudden interest in the ceiling tiles . "Yeah, well, we were busy," he muttered.

Roy winced inwardly. "There's a board on the shelf over there," he said hastily, pointing to chess set General Grumman had left behind him after his initial visit. "Bring it here and I'll show you how to set up the pieces. Though I doubt you'll learn enough to beat me in five hours," he added slyly.

"Oh yeah?" Ed retorted, anger and competitiveness automatically over-riding his momentary depression. "Just you wait Mustang, I'm gonna hand you your ass!"

Roy allowed himself to smirk smugly as Ed fixed him with a glare. All was once again right with the world.

###

"Really?" Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes said slowly. "You wrangled _Ed_ into staying at the hospital with Roy?"

"Yes," Hawkeye answered calmly.

"Really?" Hughes repeated. "Lieutenant, not that I doubt your superb judgement or anything, but isn't that a recipe for, well, utter disaster?"

At this, the lieutenant smiled serenely. "Having Ed there to argue with will distract the Colonel from the pain in his leg," she explained, "while arguing with the Colonel will help Edward keep his mind off his last mission. It didn't go as well as expected and Alphonse mentioned that his brother was still feeling a little disappointed."

"And a disappointed Ed is a grouchy Ed," Hughes added thoughtfully, "and thus an impediment to getting any work done. Whereas, if he's around Roy. . ."

"Exactly."

"So it's a pretty brilliant idea," Hughes admitted. He paused. "Provided they don't kill each other first. Or blow up the hospital."

"That is a statistically low probability."

* * *

Reviews?


	41. Flame: Never Let Your Guard Down

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

He dives out of the building, the air around him burning hot, thick with smoke and ash. Flames lash out after him, and the boy knows with a horrible certainty that he is the only one who got out of the building alive.

He looks around as the air clears and sees that there is only one person nearby, an Amestrian soldier. A dark-haired young man, with bright red circles emblazoned on pure white gloves. He is kneeling in the dirt and vomiting violently. The boy stares at him, realizing just who the man, not much older than the boy himself, must be.

"_That's_ the Flame Alchemist?" he whispers in denial. But he can't be. There must be some mistake. The Flame Alchemist is some kind of horrible monster. He burns buildings and people to ash without a second thought. He slaughters the people of Ishval in their hundreds. Only the one called Crimson has killed more. This man, this dark-haired soldier now kneeling in his own vomit cannot be the legendary Flame Alchemist. "He can't be," the boy whispers again. "He looks _normal._"

The soldier looks around at the burnt smouldering corpses who had been living breathing people only moments before, and promptly sicks up again. The smell of regurgitated army rations wafts in the breeze. The alchemist chokes and coughs again, doubling over in pain.

Rage rises in the boy's gullet and he pulls a knife from his pocket. He has always had a good aim, and this time, _this time,_ he will _not _miss. The Flame Alchemist dies here. No more of the children of Ishvalla will suffer his fires.

Someone catches his hand just as he goes to throw the knife. The boy turns in dawning horror. A wide, delighted smile greets him. "Ah-ah," the soldier with long, black hair sing-songs. The palm of the soldier's other hand sparks with the tell-tale blue light of alchemy and the insane smile grows wider.

He doesn't have time to scream.

####

Roy watched as Kimbley stepped over the remains of the boy, wiping his blood-stained palms on his trousers. "Should be more careful next time, Mustang," the Crimson Alchemist advised cheerfully. "I might not be around to clean up the ones you miss." He grinned, and Roy's stomach lurched unpleasantly.

Roy tried in vain not to look at the pasty mass of meat that had been a teenage boy less than a minute ago. As Kimbley walked towards him, still grinning happily, he finally lost control of his rebelling stomach and emptied it all over the ground in front of him again.

"Hey, what's the matter, Flame?" he heard Kimbley ask, the man somehow managing to sound genuinely worried. "You eat something that disagreed with you?"

* * *

Reviews?


	42. Cold: Coldest Nights

Disclaimer: I do not own. Written for fma_fic_contest.

* * *

Nights in Xerxes were always cold.

The capital was smack in the centre of the Great Desert and as the sun sank on the horizon, the burning, fire-like heat of the day always gave way to a hammer-like coldness that chilled everything it touched, reaching to the centre of all beings and filling them with an unavoidable ice that reached to their very hearts.

Or at least, that was the way Twenty Three's master described it when he feeling especially educated and superior. As he huddled on his cot, with the thin blankets draped around his shoulders, Twenty Three came to two very important conclusions. One: Master was a pompous old git. Two: He never, ever wanted to find out how cold it had to be for ice to form. (Twenty Three still did not believe that it could possibly get cold enough for water to turn hard. That was just ridiculous.)

###

Nights in Xing were cool, just this side of uncomfortable.

Of course, Van Hohenheim acknowledged wryly, he _was_ currently living at the top of a mountain, a situation unfortunately necessitated by the fact that the locals had, to his great embarrassment, decided that he was some sort of benevolent god. It was official as of this day forward, he decided. He was not giving anyone else alchemy lessons until they stopped insisting that it was magic. All the worshipping was getting ridiculous.

A noise echoing through the cool night air caught his attention and the alchemist peered through the trees surrounding his mountainside home. Nothing.

Seconds later there was another snap of a broken twig. This time Hohenheim spotted the source. He gave a quiet groan. A beautiful young woman in finest silk was making her way determinedly up the mountainside.

_Also official,_ he added to himself. _Find a way to stop the Chang clan sending me potential wives. Nearly had to throw the last one off the west cliff to get rid of her._

###

Nights in Drachma were _bloody freezing._

"N-note to self," the Sage of the West muttered as he glanced at the small pile of ashes that had previously been a fair sized bale of sticks intended to be a decent fire. "Fire alchemy is n-not one of my strengths. Stick to solids."

"Second note to s-s-self," he said through chattering teeth. "_Never _coming back to Drachma."

###

Nights in Amestris were . . . changeable.

The night had started off mild enough, but there was a familiar chill beginning to fill the air. Still, the celebrating locals didn't seem to mind. Mostly, he surmised, because they were dancing around a huge bonfire.

From where he was sitting however, the fire was just a little too far away, and the cold was beginning to seep through his coat. Hohenheim decided to follow his friend's example of the best way to guard against a chilly night and downed the rest of the bottle of Stray Dog that he'd been saving.

"Dance with me?"

He looked up. A brown-haired girl of about twenty was standing in front of him, holding out her hand with a smile. "Will you dance with me?"

"Uh. . ." said Van Hohenheim, master of suaveness. Behind him, Pinako Rockbell snickered into her liquor.

"Please?" the young woman said hopefully. "Just one dance?"

"Well, uh. . ." he coughed, still a little surprised. "I suppose one dance couldn't hurt."

She smiled at him as he took her hand.

The night turned warm.

* * *

Reviews?


	43. Twelve Days : Partridge

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

"Oh look!" Ling exclaimed.

Ed sighed inwardly. No matter how many times that he explained to the stupid prince that _quiet_ was needed to hunt for food, the irritating nuisance persisted in loudly babbling over every little thing.

Of course, it had been quite a while since Ling had been, well, _Ling._ So Ed was currently proving his sensitivity (which he had _plenty_ of, whatever some annoying prince might say) by restraining himself from beating the Xingese Annoyance unconscious so that he could hunt in peace.

"What is it now?" he asked, sure that he was going to regret the question.

"Look!" Ling said again, clutching Ed's arm in apparent excitement. Having been temporarily released from Greed's control, he seemed to have permanently switched to hyper-mode in order to cram in as much experience as possible before Greed decided to take over again. "I think that's a partridge!"

Ed looked. On a the branch of a tree about thirty yards away, there was a small, fat, bird. "So?"

Ling pulled a face, seemingly appalled. "There's a lovely Amestrian folk song about partridges. My nurse used to sing it to me when I was small. Don't you know it?" he asked, disappointed.

"Just 'cos some song is Amestrian doesn't mean I automatically know it," Ed snapped. "What do I look like, the Encyclopaedia Amestria – Songbook Edition?"

"I shall educate you!" Ling declared. "It goes like this: _On the first day of Solstice my true love gave to me-" _

Ed's stomach rumbled, reminding his brain that there was a limit of just how much possessed-by-a-homunculus-excuse it was willing to let slide if some meat wasn't acquired very, very soon.

There was a brief, sad, squawk.

"Ed!" Ling whined. "What did you do that for?"

"Lunch."

* * *

Reviews?


	44. Rubble: Innocent

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

East City's first library was one of the oldest buildings in the whole eastern territory. It was a graceful building, with precisely cut stone steps leading up to it and a beautiful colonnade screening the large, impressive doorway, which itself framed an exquisitely carved, centuries-old wooden door. All in all, it was a valuable historical site as well as a vast repository of knowledge, not to mention a beautiful display of classical Amestrian architecture.

Or at least it _had_ been.

At the moment, as Roy surveyed the rubble and watched the dust settle, the words 'national disaster' persisted in coming to mind instead.

A long, tense minute went by. Then, after carefully wiping some of the dust out of his hair, the Flame Alchemist folded his arms and turned, raising an accusing eyebrow at his youngest subordinate.

"What?" Edward Elric demanded defensively. "I didn't do it!"

* * *

Reviews?


	45. Book: Unfinished

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Roy exited the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee, intending to sit down and relax in his favourite armchair and get back to the new book he'd been reading. Once in the door of the living-room however, he paused and let out an audible sigh of frustration. His new book was no longer sitting on the armrest where he'd left it.

Ed had taken his book. Again.

Said book-stealer was comfortably curled up in Roy's armchair with borrowed uniform jacket draped over him for extra warmth, even though the fire was lit and crackling away in the grate. It was in fact, quite an enchanting picture, but Roy was not going to be distracted by that. He had a bone to pick with Ed, and he was damn well going to pick it clean. So he stomped into the sitting room and paused right in front the blond, before loudly clearing his throat.

There was no response, so Roy carefully put his coffee cup down on the nearby mantelpiece of the fireplace, and then reached over to pluck the book from the blond man's lazy grip.

This got an immediate reaction. Ed let out a loud, indignant "Hey!" and wrenched the book away from Roy's grasp, before curling up tighter and clutching the book protectively in his mismatched hands. "What the hell, Roy? I'm reading this!"

"Really?" Roy said in mock surprise. "Funny, I was sure that I was reading that particular volume up until ten minutes ago."

Ed tilted his head. "You're still reading it?"

"Yes. That is why I folded the corner of the page _and _put a bookmark in it."

"Yeah, but . . . you put it down," Ed replied slowly, as if he was confused by the fact that Roy did not understand some fundamental rule of the universe.

"Yes. So that I could get my coffee, and then return here and finish my book."

Ed still looked confused. "But if you weren't finished with it, why did you put it down?"

"To get my coffee!" Roy not-quite snapped. "Just because someone puts a book down, it doesn't mean that they're finished with it."

Ed was now looking at him as though he was a particularly dim child. "But it does! That's why, if you're _not_ finished a book, you don't let it go for anything. Otherwise it'll get taken, and you can't get it back, because if you weren't finished with it, then you wouldn't have put it down!"

"Ahh," Roy hummed, as realisation began to dawn and he let go of his irritation. "Just a guess, Ed, but is this the reason you insist on bringing your books to the dinner table? And the bathroom, the park, and the greengrocer's?"

"Well it's not like I can just put them down!" Ed said defensively. "Otherwise anyone could just take 'em."

"For example? And don't say me. I have never stolen a book you were reading."

"For example, Al," Ed declared.

Roy shook his head. "Al is in Resembool with his girlfriend, Ed. I'm sure your books are quite safe."

"Yeah sure," Ed muttered disbelievingly. "That's just what he _wants _me to think."

* * *

Reviews?


	46. Secret: Poetry

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, and the men of Team Mustang (a.k.a. Flamey for Fuhrer) were not happy campers. Every year an order came from the nearest member of the high command, and every year, the entirety of Central Headquarters underwent a thorough spring cleaning.

This year, like every other year, Roy Mustang (newly promoted to Brigadier General) managed to mysteriously be needed elsewhere, leaving his loyal subordinates, (minus Lieutenant Hawkeye who had the good fortune to have the day off) to clean up the office in his stead.

Thus, armed only with dustpan, brush, and in Warrant Officer Falman's case a surprisingly pink feather duster, they had gotten to work.

It was perhaps a quarter past three, when Havoc, cleaning under the newly promoted General's desk, had forgotten for just a second where he was when struck by the urge to stretch. He was promptly struck by the underside of the desk instead, and the oldest pile of paperwork, which rumour said had been there almost a month and was beginning to compost, shifted slightly. For one terrifying moment, those not under the desk thought it would fall, scattering papery doom all over the recently cleaned floor.

Instead, it wobbled alarmingly, discharged a few crumpled pieces of notepaper from the very bottom of the pile and settled back onto the desk with a papery creak.

Breda, who was nearest, picked up the notepaper with a sigh of relief and glanced at it out of curiosity. Then he stared.

"What _is _this crap?" Breda exclaimed.

"Dunno," said his blond compatriot from under the desk. "What is it?"

Heymans Breda perused the slips of paper with the air of someone attempting to unravel a particularly difficult mystery. "It's poetry. I think."

"You think?" Falman asked as he tried in vain to escape the ever expanding cloud of dust that was currently enveloping his head.

"Really _bad_ poetry," Breda elaborated.

There was a growl from below the desk. "Look Breda," Havoc snapped, "he already skipped out and left us to do all the cleaning, so I really don't want to have to listen to any love letters to General-Girlfriend-Stealer."

"I . . . don't think this was written to the boss," Breda said slowly. "I . . . think he wrote it."

There was a brief silence. Then Havoc emerged from under the desk. "Funny, Breda. Really. Mustang does not write sappy love poetry."

"Seriously, look at this line," the red-head insisted. _"How I long to run my fingers through the spun gold that is your hair/But no, the flaxen beauty is not for me. I do not dare._ You can't tell me that's not his handwriting."

"Flaxen is not the same definition as gold," Falman interjected solemnly. "They are both a shade of yellow, though."

"Yeah, well, you can correct the boss when he gets back," Havoc snorted as he glanced at the crumpled pieces of paper. Then he frowned puzzled. "Wait a minute, this can't be right."

The other men looked at him. "What do you mean?" Breda asked.

Havoc shrugged. "This isn't that old and it's written to a blonde. The boss hasn't dated a blonde in at least the last two months."

"Are you sure about that?" Breda asked. "Wait, how _can_ you be so sure?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because he's requested a driver for all his dates in the last two months," Havoc snapped. "Also known as yours truly. So I can tell you, none of the General's dates have been blondes. It's weird."

"Yeah," Fuery agreed distractedly. "The only blond woman around here is the lieutenant."

Stunned silence ensued as the other men absorbed this observation.

"Uh, no," Havoc said once he'd gotten his brain back.

"Absolutely not," Falman agreed.

"I dunno. Maybe?" Breda said thoughtfully, as he continued to examine the smudged pieces of paper.

"You think?" the others chorused at the over-weight second lieutenant, their disbelief fading.

"Wait, this crap gets worse. Listen to this," Breda said. "_How beautiful in battle, silver and gold. Secret desire, never to be told."_

Falman blinked in puzzlement. "Wait, silver? What does that mean?"

"Oh come on," Havoc scoffed, "he's obviously talking about her gun. I swear, she must polish that thing every day."

"Secret desire! He's obviously too frightened to confess to her." Fuery opined.

Havoc gave him a sideways glance. "Mustang? Too frightened of a lady? No way, man."

"Maybe," Fuery agreed. "I guess you've got a point. Unless. . ." he trailed off.

"What? What?" the other men demanded as Fuery's jaw dropped. "What is it?"

Fuery looked around briefly to make sure that the office door was shut and then lowered his voice, "you don't think that he did and she _rejected_ him, do you?"

There was a brief silence as the members of Team Mustang shared a look.

"No way," Havoc said at last. "No woman has ever rejected the boss."

"We _are_ talking about the lieutenant though," Fuery reminded them, the addendum of 'toughest woman in East City' going unsaid.

They shared another look.

"You don't _really _think. . ."Havoc began.

"Always thought she'd go for it if he actually. . ."Breda mused.

"It would be against regulations," Falman pointed out, before adding thoughtfully, "of course, perhaps the General felt it worth the risk. . ."

"And she didn't?" Havoc finished sceptically. "Mind you, _this_ wasn't very well hidden. . . if she got a glimpse of his poetry . . ."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Fuery shook his head in sympathy. "The poor General. No wonder he didn't want to stick around today. A proud man like him wouldn't want others to see him with his heart broken."

"Well, that and he hates cleaning unless he's procrastinating," Havoc said.

Fuery ignored him. "The poor General," he said again. "Undone by bad poetry."

___________________

* * *

_

Reviews?


	47. Seamless: Perfect Repairs

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

________________

The night after the underground battle in Central, Ed lay awake, his mind refusing to slow down and let him sleep. He flitted from worrying about King Bradley's veiled threat to Winry, to worrying about Ling trapped by Greed, to feeling concerned about the Colonel's team being broken up.

Not that Ed _cared_ about the smug pyro, he could look after himself just fine, but Lieutenant Hawkeye and the rest of Mustang's team had always been good to him and Al. So he worried about them too, just a little.

As he shifted around on his bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, Ed's mind shifted away from Winry, Ling, Mustang and his men and returned for the hundredth time that night to the puzzle that had been bothering him ever since he and Ling had clawed their way out of Gluttony's stomach and reunited with Al.

Down in the underground tunnels, when they'd first met him, the homunculus' Father had healed Ed's arm with no effort and put Al back together perfectly. No thinning of the metal, no weakening, nothing. Not even Ed was that good. Even he couldn't keep putting Al back together perfectly. There was always a tiny crack, some small imperfection that showed Al's metal body had been damaged, that Ed had failed once again to protect his little brother.

_One day,_ Ed promised himself, _one day, I'll put Al back together _exactly _the way he used to be. No weakness, no cracks. Just Al._

* * *

Reviews?


	48. Paninya: Flying

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

______________

Paninya loved being up high. Ever since Dominic had made her new legs and given her back the ability to stand, she had loved to be as high as she possibly could and delighted in jumping from rooftop to rooftop, her own personal highway across Rush Valley.

If someone had asked why she felt so at home up among the slates, corrugated iron and pigeons, Paninya would have shrugged, given a bright smile and made a smart-ass remark about the great view.

But no one ever asked.

This was, Paninya admitted to herself while leaning against a chimney one sunny afternoon, partially her fault. She had turned to thievery to repay Dominic after all. That meant that any question directed at her tended to be something along the lines of '_you damn thief, where's my wallet?'_

Which was fine and grand, Paninya decided. She had stuff to take care of and she didn't need someone asking her questions about her habits or her favourite colour or silly things like that. That was time-wasting crap for girls who _didn't _owe Dominic for two legs and an arm and she didn't need to bother with it.

Besides, she thought as she pushed away from the chimney, it would only be a lie anyway. Who would care about her real reason, besides Dominic, who knew what it was and therefore knew never to bring it up in front of her.

She bent her knees and sniffed the air as she backed up to get a clear jump to the next roof. The air smelled of iron and dust, mixed with the promise of oncoming rain. Paninya smiled and rocketed forward with a whoop of joy, launching herself into the air.

_This is my place_, she thought as she flew. _Up here where everyone has to look into the **sky** to see me._ _I might still be covered in dirt and dust, but now I'm flying towards the stars._

* * *

Reviews?


	49. Flinch: Rumours

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

There were rumours about it all over the camp. The 'Flame' Alchemist was stone cold, the men said. Pale as a ghost, with dead black eyes. Just had to snap his fingers to burn people alive. Stone cold killer. Didn't even flinch, they said. Take our advice and stay away from that one, Lieutenant, they said. He's near as dangerous as that wacko Kimblee.

Maes Hughes listened to the rumours and remembered his first sight of the annoyed eighteen-year-old boy back at the academy who'd feuded with him over a piece of quiche, and the confident twenty-three year old man he'd last seen a few months before the Ishvalan region had exploded. Roy couldn't have changed _that_ much, surely?

When he finally found the Flame Alchemist, bent over a bucket and vomiting up the contents of his stomach in self-disgust, it was apparent that he hadn't. Hughes couldn't help but wonder if maybe Roy would've been better off if he had.

* * *

Reviews?


	50. Yoki: Cold Night

Disclaimer: I do not own.

* * *

Former Lieutenant Yoki sighed piteously and glared up at the stars through the hole in the roof. How had his life been reduced to this? He was homeless, penniless, freezing cold, and currently travelling in the company of a vicious wanted murderer, a cheerfully insane little girl and a cat thing with far too many small sharp teeth.

Said vicious murderer was not here right now, having gone off to investigate something. He hadn't told Yoki what, and the little man had wisely decided not to ask. He liked his brains on the inside, thank you. Of course, that meant that Yoki was left alone in a hovel with the insane girl and her cat thing. And the fire was going out. He did not approve of this situation. The cat thing might decide to attack at any moment.

Well, Yoki thought, perhaps not at _any _moment. Girl and evil pet were both currently tucked under a thick blanket and snoring quietly. Yoki turned and glanced at them just in case. Once reassured, he went back to pitying himself.

"Edward Elric," he snarled quietly, envisioning the horrid boy's evil yellow eyes and his vicious malevolent smirk. "This is all your fault. If I ever see you again I'll, I'll . . ."

_Run screaming in the opposite direction from the steel-armed little monster?_ an inner voice said treacherously.

Yoki glared at the dying ashes of the fire, squashing the thought. "I will have my well-deserved revenge," he corrected it.

_Before or after he breaks your jaw with his automail?_ Inner-Yoki asked.

"Shut up," Yoki said miserably, burying his head in his hands.

Minutes later, a change in the sound behind him caught his attention and he looked around again, frowning in irritation.

It was the little Xingese girl. Her blanket had fallen to one side and she and her little pet cat thing were curled up against one another, shivering. Her teeth were chattering in her sleep.

"How annoying," Yoki muttered. He got up and tucked the blanket back around her. "There. Now stop making that irritating sound."

Mei's teeth continued to clack against each other.

Yoki sighed and went looking for firewood.

* * *

Reviews?


	51. Coffee: Drinker Beware

Ed squinted disapprovingly as the tiny cup was set in front of him. "Seriously?" he asked the waitress. "This is all you've got?"

"Brother! Be nice," Al scolded him. "You asked for genuine Xingese coffee. You got genuine Xingese coffee.

"Hey, I just think I should get a bit more, considering the price," Ed said defensively.

Al sighed and resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands as the waitress backed away, smiling apologetically. "Brother, just try it. It's worth the price, I promise."

"All right, all right," Ed muttered, picking up the cup. "Can't be any worse than the stuff they used to make in the cafeteria back at East Headquarters, I guess."

Al raised an eyebrow at his sibling. "Brother, _nothing_ is worse than the stuff they make there. It's a scientific impossibility."

Ed blinked. "How would you know? You were in armour then."

"I heard stories," Al said darkly. "Now go ahead and try your coffee already."

"Fine, fine. Bottoms up."

"Brother!" Al half-shrieked as Ed downed the entire cup in one go. "Not all at once!"

"Arg," Ed managed in reply, before toppling backwards.


End file.
